Deleted Memories
by Zacha
Summary: This story occur eight months post Reichenbach. Sherlock while recovering from injuries; is asked to assist in a high profile kidnapping. Sherlock fights against time to save the victim, while fighting against memories that threaten to destroy him.
1. Deleted Memories, Introduction

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Introduction

Author's note: I will be moving back and forth in time. I will clearly prompt. Thanks for reading. This is my first fan fiction, so a special thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review, it is encouraging as well as helpful. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money is made. The stories, however, are my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination.

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><p>*This story occur post Reichenbach<p>

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><p><strong><em>"If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith will last in the midst of the<em>**

**_blackest storm."_** ~ Mahatma Gandhi

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><p><em>Late Summer<em>

It was a clear sunny day. Everyone was laughing, talking, and smiling. The clear sky could be seen behind the big pane-to-pane glass window. Humanity passed. Some wore suits having hurried conversations on their phones, or typing on laptops. Some were in jeans or some form of casual clothing. There were families, friends, acquaintances, and lovers. In the corner, a couple was kissing. Müller sat back and took it all in.

Love, he thought.

His attention was drawn to the opposite corner; three rows of seats in front where some children were laughing. He noticed a mother who busied herself trying to feed her infant. He heard the beginning of a sniffle. It soon turned into a high-pitched wail. The same mother, now desperate, quickly pulled items out of an oversized bag, depositing them on the plastic seat next to her. She, finding what she was looking for, exhaled in relief. The baby, now satisfied, took the bottle and greedily drank the smooth opaque liquid. The mother sighed deeply.

He caught her eyes and gave a knowing smile and nod. The mother smiled back.

Müller stood and glanced at his watch while walking to the bathroom.

A dark-haired woman stood in front of the entrance to the bathroom, apparently just finished with cleaning. "A nice day," she said with her voice shaking slightly.

"The nicest we have had so far this month," he replied.

She nodded, removed the "do not enter" sign from the floor, and left quickly.

He went into the third stall of the public bathroom and sat shaking. He thought of his wife of one year; of the way, her lips had felt that morning. He knew she liked emeralds. It was her favorite gem. He had surprised her last night, an early birthday present. He wanted her to believe that her subtle hints had gone unnoticed. Of course, he had not forgotten. He smiled broadly. She had been surprised; so she decided to surprise him back. His smile widened at the memory. He was to be in Saints Petersburg in the morning.

A business deal was on the verge of collapse. His company sent him because he was the best. He was given an assignment and it would be completed. He would not fail.

He took a breath as he gathered up the briefcase. A look of determination came on his face. He heard the boarding call.

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><p>On the plane, he noticed the same young mother he observed in the airport lobby. He stopped and smiled.<p>

"May I?" Müller asked.

The mother nodded.

He held the baby's hand.

"A boy," he said as he smiled, the tiny fingers gripping his thumb.

Amazing, a baby's grip, he thought.

"My wife is pregnant. She thinks I don't know. She is planning on surprising me when I return," Müller said conversationally.

"Congratulations," the mother replied with a thick German accent. "Your first?"

"Yes; she wants to have four, I think two is enough." The baby smiled crookedly as he wiggled his hands and feet with enthusiasm. Müller looked into the baby's eyes. They were so innocent.

He felt a wave of nausea come over him. Excusing himself, he walked briskly to the bathroom locking himself in.

"Flu," she thought, she hoped the nice young man would be okay. She smiled, as her attention quickly turned back to Brant, her son.

Müller wiped his mouth and washed his face. He looked at his mirrored reflection while taking calming breaths. He looked at his watch and inhaled heavily.

He burst through the bathroom.

Startled, every eye turned to him. Their eyes relayed their confusion. He looked at the young mother.

"Forgive me," he whispered as he pushed the button.

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><p>A little girl walked to the window dragging her doll behind, half-forgotten. She thought the fireworks looked so beautiful.<p>

The colors intensified and mixed as they danced on the metallic wing.

Everyone else stopped in horror. Some screamed, some cried, and some stood silent, shocked.

"OH," she repeated smiling; she pressed her tiny face to the window, her breath fogging up the glass, "Pretty."

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><p>A text alert pinged loudly in the quiet room. He easily made for it. '<em>Turn on the news'<em>

He crossed the room, slightly stretching picked up the remote. His fingers searched briefly in the dim light. His eyes had already adjusted to the shadows. He had awakened even before the morning's light and was fully dressed. He slept short spans of time on his best days. The last few months, sleep fled from him and he did not pursue it.

Light suddenly danced with the darkness. The television screen flickered showing images of metal, fire, soot, smoke, and wreckage.

"Good God," he whispered as he reached for the phone. Normally he preferred to text. Today was not normal.

He unbuttoned his dark suit jacket, and sank into the plush armchair by the window. His hair was dyed red. His dark roots were beginning to show. The sides and back were cut short but the front kept long.

A cool morning breeze blew his hair into his face. He combed back his hair with impatient fingers. Someone answered the other line.

"You were right," the voice on the other end started.

Silence, then more words were spoken.

"It wasn't your fault, you gave them warning; they were too slow to respond."

"Then whose fault is it?" He asked.

_(Silence)_

A sigh, "When do we leave?" The voice asked.

"We do not." He replied. "I need you here; continue to dig, it's not over. Besides, it's too dangerous, I cannot risk you getting hurt."

"Careful, I may start to think you care," the voice said rough with emotions.

_(Silence)_

The voice continued, "You need someone to watch your back. You're reckless on your own."

A short silence, then he spoke. "I need a few more days, I should be finished here then he will be safe."

"You found Aleksey Ivanov," the voice commented.

"Of course," he could hear the smile.

The voice sighed again then continued, "Are you hungry yet, let's have dinner before you go."

"Maybe lunch," he said, surprising both the voice and himself.

He disconnected the phone, rising. They did not dispense with such pleasantries as hello or goodbye.

He walked out the window to the balcony, hands in pocket. He looked down on the Garden Ring and the Red Square. He preferred Moscow to Saint Petersburg; it really was a beautiful city.


	2. Chapter 1

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories.

Authors note: This is my first fan fiction so please review and comment. I will add chapters every several days.

Thanks everyone for reading and a special thanks to everyone who comments.

This story occurs eight months post Reichenbach. John has been aware that Sherlock was alive for two months

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><p><strong><em>"We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and <em>**

**_survival."_**~Winston Churchill

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><p><em>Present day<em>

It had been six months since Sherlock had come back to him. It took another month for his name to be cleared legally, and still another month for him to find the last thread of Moriarty's web as he had come to call it. And, two weeks ago, he almost lost him again.

John pondered all these things as he walked toward the kitchen, wondering which tea Sherlock would be willing to drink today.

John's hair was still wet from the shower; a drop of bath water hit his blue and white jumper as the phone buzzed.

"I'll get it," he said needlessly. Sherlock sat staring out the window, fully dress despite the fact that it was not yet, seven.

John shook slightly as he hung up the phone. His back was turned to Sherlock.

"Lestrade." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." John hoped Sherlock had not noticed the hitch in his voice and the slight hesitation as he hung up the phone.

Sherlock sighed tiredly.

As he turned, he noticed his roommate sitting in "his chair" fingers together as though he was whispering a prayer. John smiled at the familiarity of it. At least some things had not changed.

His smile disappeared when his thoughts returned to the phone call.

John turned around feet glued, unable to move from his position next to the phone.

To anyone else, Sherlock would seem composed, peaceful. But, John knew him. The bruises around his face were healing well. Not as noticeable now. The cuts and bruises scattered about the rest of him were in different stages of healing, and would take longer. Some wounds were obvious, some more "personal".

_John remembered._

He remembered the hurried text from Sherlock, the frantic call to Lestrade. Being told to "stay put, too dangerous", Yards would search the warehouses near the Thames.

Like hell.

In the end, it was John who found his broken body. It was John who called Lestrade. It was John who listened to Sherlock's ragged whispers of information and instructions. Information so important, he was willing to give his last breaths to convey it.

It was John who looked into his closing eyes, who feared that he was losing his best friend… again.

For five days, Sherlock went in and out of consciousness, on the sixth day his first words, whispered in a raspy voice, shocked John, "Call Mycroft."

"_Hello… um… Mycroft… how did I get this number… oh, Sherlock gave it to me … Mycroft, are you there… um yes …. He's at Saint Catherine, he said to tell you he needs you… so are you sending someone… oh, coming yourself…. Right then , see you soon."_


	3. Chapter 2

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter two

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><p>John was startled out of his memories as a knock came at the door; he could not have possibly been lost in his memories for that long, could he? It could not have been longer than ten minutes.<p>

Lestrade must have been in the car when he called, John thought.

John thought about ignoring it until Sherlock spoke.

"It's okay John," Sherlock's voice was low but even. "Let Lestrade and his … _company_ in."

John noted that in walked Lestrade, Donovan, and that bastard Superintendent of his, what was his name? The memory of punching him in the face those many months ago after he called Sherlock a weirdo brought an involuntary smile to John's face.

"John." Lestrade looked somewhat nervous.

"Greg," John answered followed by a short uncomfortable silence. John glanced toward Sherlock. His mask was back in place.

To anyone that did not know him, he appeared calm even bored at the intrusion. Impeccably dressed in his dark navy pinstripe suit, with a white shirt sitting cross-legged in his chair. His soft black curls hung loosely around his face, a little longer than usual.

With everything that … happened, a haircut had been a low priority. His hands were folded in his lap.

Only John noticed faint bruising to his wrist barely covered by his suit cuff. A reminder of the handcuffs. John alone noticed the slight trembling to his hands.

The Chief Superintendent spoke up. "Ah, Mr. Holmes you are requested on a case. The Ambassador to America, Mr. Prison has a friend whose daughter has been kidnapped. You were specially requested to assist. Now, we brought the evidence for you to look…"

"You have some bloody nerve coming here after what the lot of you did!" John replied full of anger.

"Now wait a minute," The Chief Superintendent bristled, "I came to a decision based on the evidence."

"You came to a decision of convenience. Maybe a little arrogance and pride mixed in. You resented the fact that a consultant detective could be more clever that the lot of you. You were all too happy to look the other way when it suited you, but the moment there was the slightest pressure, all loyalties went out the door." John made a point to look at Donovan who suddenly found the floor interesting.

"His name was cleared…," The Chief Superintendent started.

"No thanks to any of you, only Lestrade helped." John then opened his mouth to tell them in the most impolite way possible to get out, but was interrupted by his name.

"John!" when had Sherlock stood?

His hand was on John's wrist, gently but firmly holding it to gain his attention. He noticed the slight sweat on Sherlock's brow for his effort. How long has he been calling my name? John wondered with guilt.

John looked in his eyes and Sherlock in John's. No words were spoken, but an entire conversation took place.

John understood. "I'll put the kettle to boil," John sighed.


	4. Chapter 3

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter three

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><p>It was four hours in; the dining room had been converted. Papers and pictures were scattered on the table, and maps and diagrams on the wall.<p>

Sherlock went between his computer and his phone. He was slightly off by himself with Lestrade and John running interference. The Chief Superintendent left after the first hour, to John's relief. Two officers had joined.

One was familiar, Simon, John thought was his name. Sherlock had the same intense focus he always had when on a case. A faraway look was in his eyes; he noticed every small detail but would choose to remember only what was deemed important.

Lestrade had stopped supervising and now leaned on the wall in a corner looking at Sherlock.

Concerned etched on his face.

He caught John's eye and looked at him. John gave a slight nod and made his way into the kitchen. Greg followed.

"John."

"Greg."

John refreshed his own cup of tea first. He then poured the Inspector a fresh cup of coffee. He motioned for Lestrade to sit which he did.

"He is pushing too hard. He's still healing, when he is healthy these cases take a lot out of him, now…"

"I know, but he's got the scent…" Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade said as he dry wiped his face, "… and even though I don't like the idea of him coming back so soon, the truth is, we need him."

"Thanks," Lestrade said as he accepted the coffee handed to him by John.

"Oh thanks for the heads up earlier," John stated while sitting. Greg nodded.

Sherlock looked at all the pictures, crime reports and statistics. His eyes moved rapidly as information, facts and figures appeared in his mind, and was categorized, and arranged by importance. Everything not important would be deleted. He was close, he felt it. However, the usual eagerness, flair and excitement that accompanied these cases were waning, along with his physical strength.

He deduced that the child had only forty-four to forty-eight hours before she was killed. The promised made by the kidnapper to return her was false, since there was no obvious signs of struggle.

No sign of struggle meant the child knew and saw the kidnapper. If she was returned she could easily identify her kidnapper, and the other accomplices in turn would be identified.

That meant that... of course... **obvious.**

He needed to be there for the interview, and as much as he was not looking forward to seeing Anderson; he needed to see the actual crime scene for himself.

Sherlock drove the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. He was too slow today. He could not afford to be slow.

"Stay distant," he muttered to himself.

Sherlock always stayed emotionally distant from crime victims; emotions interfere. However, there had been a few, like Henry Knight. Toward the end, he felt a bond with him. After going through the emotional hell of the experimental drug in Dartmoor; He knew he would do whatever it took, to save him from the prison of insanity the drug would have eventually driven him to.

He would do the same with little Katie, although he would never admit it, and even went as far as considering it a weakness. No one, particularly a child should have to deal with being kidnapped and held against his or her will ….

Before he could finish his thought, flashes of memories came flooding into his mind; sights...sounds...smells...pain.

"Nooooo!" He forced the memories back. He concentrated on his breathing. In, four counts; out three counts repeat.

"Sherlock." It took a second to realize that John was kneeing by his chair with a hand on his shoulder, and another second to realize that he had spoken aloud.

"You OK mate?" John asked.

Sherlock gave a slight nod.

"He's pale as a ghost, and what does _no_ mean; is the **Freak** OK?" Donovan asked.

"Don't you all have work to do, a case to solve?" Lestrade said a little bit more forcefully than he intended." Lestrade pinched his nose while taking in a calming breath. He continued with what he hoped was a casual tone, "Tell you what, how's about a working lunch?"

"Lunch can we order pizza?" one of the officer suggested, the volume suddenly increased as everyone debated possible toppings on their pizza. All attention shifted from Sherlock to their stomachs.

John looked at Lestrade gratefully. A slight nod from the Inspector was the only acknowledgement.

"Well, our lunch is in the back, Sherlock will you eat something?" Before waiting for a reply, he led Sherlock in the back.

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><p>The kitchen was passed as he led him to his bedroom. Sherlock did not argue but allowed himself to be lead to the chair in his room by the window. He sat stiffly. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. His hands had a death grip on the chair, as he made an effort to even out his breathing.<p>

"Thought you might want a bit of privacy," John said casually, "I'll set up the eat off tray for you here with soup and a sandwich." After hesitating slightly he added, "You had a flashback." It was not really a question.

After waiting, John sighed, resigned to not being answered and turned to get his lunch.

"I can't delete it John," Sherlock stated in an unsteady voice. John turned around and walked back to where Sherlock was sitting. After a moment's hesitation, he sat on the edge of the bed facing Sherlock and waited for him to continue.

"It's… the way my mind works, John," he paused slightly, shifting in his chair and grimacing slightly. He moved his finger tips together they touched his chin. "Information that is not useful, outdated I just delete, making room for the useful, the necessary." A sad smile formed on his face. "Mycroft taught me how when I was twelve."

"Imagine being able to look at a person and see things that no one else can see, to be bored because the things that come with difficulty to most comes easily to you. Let's just say I was never good at social graces, or knowing when to shut up. Beatings were not uncommon."

"Mycroft had a similar mind, he understood me. He taught me the disadvantages and weaknesses of emotions. By fourteen, I surpassed even him in my ability to deduce. I could add and delete information in my mind at will"

"But memories… ah… that's a little bit trickier. I learned to put those in a sort of room in my mind. It's not that I truly forget the memories; but it's locked away, buried so deeply, they cannot affect me in any way."

"Imagine John, no emotions to influence you, no unwanted memories to cloud the intellect, to _poison_ the mind." Sherlock closed his eyes, took a shaky breath, and then opened them blinking rapidly.

John noticed the fine tremor in Sherlock's hands and his general distress. Though they had gotten very close, Sherlock was still a very private man in many ways. He was not sure if he should try to show comfort, or if movement would spook Sherlock and cause him to shut down and stop talking.

John knew he needed to talk. He would wait for Sherlock to continue, and he did.

"I… cannot seem to… delete the … memories… John… the great Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock laughed at himself mockingly.

Anger rose up in John, he took a few breaths. He wanted to get his point across without Sherlock thinking that the anger was directed at him.

"Sherlock, you've been through a trauma. First, being put in the position of choosing your death or the death of your friends, taking down Moriarty's web, having the world think you're a criminal… **then** coming back to take down the last tie to Moriarty. You're recovering from injuries from your last go around, that almost killed you by the way."

John did not remember crossing the room but he now found himself to the side of Sherlock kneeling. Sherlock looked into John's eyes for the first time since entering the room, searching them for disgust or judgment but found none.

John continued trying to control the emotions in his voice, "Honestly, you're one of the strongest men I know but you do know you're human, right?"

"Vicious rumor," Sherlock replied with a small but genuine smile.

A moment of comfortable silence passed.

John could not help but smile back and chuckle, lifting himself to his feet.

"Right then. I'll get your soup and sandwich." At the look on Sherlock's face, he compromised. "Tea and biscuits?" John was rewarded with a slight nod and smile.

John walked toward the door.

Sherlock's voice stopped his steps, "I need to see the crime scene for myself."

"I know" John sighed. Without turning back he added, "The flashbacks will get worse if you don't deal with what happened … all of it." John received no reply, he did not expect to.


	5. Chapter 4

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter four

Author's note: I will be moving back and forth in time. I will clearly prompt in hopes that this prevents confusion. Please point out if this is confusing. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review. I consider everything said. Thanks.

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><p><em><strong>"Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest meaning provides steel to our bones<strong>.**"**~ _Grace Freeman

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><p><em>18 days ago<em>

Sherlock gasped and weakly tried to lean away from the danger.

Strong hands held him in place. "Wow mate, take it easy."

Sherlock blinked rapidly trying to orient himself. "Mmm…. John?" No danger, just John. John was safe, John had found him. Sherlock eyes closed.

"Sherlock… **SHERLOCK**…," John said as he gently shook his shoulders.

Sherlock's eyes flew open, body jerking.

Pain exploded throughout his body, he groaned then looked at John frowning.

"Sorry," John said smiling apologetically.

A quick phone call was made. John then busied himself, his instincts as a doctor took over. He assessed Sherlock's pulse and frowned. John assessed and cataloged the injuries. He noticed that there were multiple cuts and lacerations, small and large, but mostly superficial.

Some were oozing, some had crusted dried blood. Blood was seeping through Sherlock's torn shirt and torn dress pants. He had a head wound with dried blood.

Old wound, John thought. Possible broken ribs he added silently.

"What did they do to you?" John mumbled quietly to himself.

What trouble John the most was the pool of blood starting to accumulate under Sherlock's right side.

John took off his coat and jumper. He tore strips of cloth. He went about the business of keeping Sherlock alive.

Sherlock's eyes closed to slits. His eyes were growing heavy again.

"Sherlock … listen carefully … you **_have_** to stay awake." John said as he tapped his cheeks.

Sherlock observed the urgency in John's voice and pleading in his eyes. He knew he had to obey, at least he had to try.

Sherlock shivered slightly. When did John put his coat around him, Sherlock wondered.

"You'll… catch your… death," Sherlock stated simply.

"It's not my death I'm worried about you git." John's retort causing a small chuckle from Sherlock. This turned into a cough that threaten to choke him. Sherlock briefly struggled to catch his breath.

John noticed the droplets of blood on Sherlock's lips and cheeks that were produced while coughing, but said nothing.

Definitely broken ribs, John decided. He elevated Sherlock's head more.

It hit him then, like waves of an ocean. Sherlock's senses were assaulted by smells, sounds, pain… and memories.

He groaned.

Sherlock blinked back tears. He was not sure if it was caused by the pain that shot through him as John pressed hard against the wound in his abdomen, or the memories that threaten to tear his mind apart.

"I'm sorry Sherlock but I have to stop the bleeding, I know it hurts."

"Yes," Sherlock said simply.

There was no time. He would lock the memories away. Delete them later when all the useful information was extracted. He had done it before.

"John," Sherlock frown at how uncooperative his tongue was becoming. His breathing was becoming more labored as well.

"It's OK Sherlock, Lestrade is close, and the ambulance is almost here."

Sherlock tried again, "J-John..., Listen!"

He held John's hand weakly, He had to be quick he was fading, he felt it. Sherlock's mind was betraying him. It was becoming more difficult to think. He had to get the information to Lestrade, to Mycroft.

The silence was broken by footsteps, and voices; orders were heard in the background. Lights bounced against the concrete, "Over there," someone shouted.

"Here!" John shouted back. John did not stop working, but nodded turning his attention back to Sherlock. John looked Sherlock in the eyes, to indicate that he was listening.

Sherlock spoke. He spoke in a slow, deliberate voice to John, struggling to be clear. He took frequent breaks to catch his breath.

"Nidal Ayyad..., 3 bombs..., three landmarks..., storage locker..., 7 Whitehaven..., Luton..., Bedfordshire ..., warehouse..., cyanide..., gas..., tell..., Lestrade..., tell..., M..."

Sherlock stopped, forgetting what he was about to say. It was something important. He was starting to shiver more. He was so tired, maybe if he slept for just a little while he would remember.

Sherlock's eyes shut.

Something dragged him from his comfortable darkness.

"Stay Awake Sherlock!" John lightly tapped his cheeks.

"Sorry," Sherlock slurred.

"Ambulance is here, medic's right behind." Lestrade knelt next to John.

"How can I help?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock wondered when Lestrade had arrived.

"Press here, don't let up no matter what he says," John instructed.

That caused more moaning that turned to coughing. Sherlock licked his lips and sucked in air in-between spasms. His teeth were chattering now. Lestrade's coat had found its way on top of him. In the back of his mind, Sherlock knew that shock was setting in.

Others were around him now. He ignored them all. He looked at John, he thought one of them might disappear if he looked away.

John's voice elevated.

Why were hands trying to pull John away from him? Sherlock panicked and tried to speak, "Jo…," he slurred.

He could not form the word.

The pull of the darkness was excessively strong now, he looked at John and saw the fear he felt mirrored on John's face. He saw the tears in John's eyes.

Then, he saw nothing.


	6. Chapter 5

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter five

Author's note: I will be moving back in time until we come to the present. There are prompt to prevent confusion. As always, thanks to everyone who takes the time to review. It is deeply appreciation and I learn from it. Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

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><p><em>17 days ago<em>

Yesterday was a blur John thought to himself. Finding Sherlock; the ambulance ride, cardiac resuscitation, emergency surgery.

Lestrade stayed with John until it was certain Sherlock was out of immediate danger. He then left briefly returning only now. John had manhandled his way into intensive care. John was told only family could stay with Sherlock, but he would not take no for an answer.

Lestrade had taken the hospital official aside and whatever he said had worked.

Lestrade could not convince John to go home and rest. In the end, a nurse had taken pity on John and directed him to an unoccupied room.

"You need to shower and change, don't want to frighten the other patients," she said as she looked pointedly at his undershirt and jacket.

Both were stained with dry blood. She smiled sympathetically and left when he nodded his understanding. He quickly showered and changed into fresh clothes that Lestrade had one of the officers to fetch.

John observed Sherlock now.

His skin was an incredibly pale contrasts next to his dark curly hair and bruises. Bandages were wrapped around his torso, and various places on his body. Both wrists were heavily bandaged.

Machines beeped away in soft rhythm. Oxygen, monitors, tubes, and fluids crowded the room.

It unnerved John to see Sherlock so incredibly still.

Sherlock was never still.

Sherlock had always seemed very strong, bigger than life, his whole presence filling a room. Now he looked unbelievably fragile, as if he would break when touched.

John sat cross-legged in the chair that had materialized while he took the shower. He would not leave.

Now that the crisis was over, John gave Lestrade the details of what he knew; what Sherlock had told him. Lestrade's face grew stone-like at the mention of Nidal Ayyad's name.

He was the third in command in Moriarty's collapsed kingdom. Ayyad was assumed dead for seven months. He asked John a few questions as he pulled out his phone. Donovan and another officer joined him. Lestrade left the group and pulled John aside privately.

"I'm leaving an officer outside Sherlock's room for a few days," Lestrade said while holding a phone up to his ear. He said goodbye to whoever was on the other end and disconnected the call.

John grew concerned. "Greg, I thought you said the suspect in the warehouse where Sherlock was found, was dead."

"Strictly speaking yes, but if Nidal Ayyad is alive and involved in Sherlock's abduction in any way, this may not be over." Greg handed John a cup of coffee one of the officers had retrieved.

"Don't worry; the officer is just a precaution… for now." Lestrade's phone buzzed, he glanced briefly at the screen. "Sorry," he said to John, "needed at the Yard."

"Thanks Greg, for everything I mean." He shook Lestrade's hand.

Lestrade turned to look at Sherlock.

"He drives me to madness sometimes, but the truth is I'm quite fond of him… though if you repeat it I'll deny the whole thing," Lestrade said with some emotion.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock one last time before turning to leave. Sherlock was alive, the shock was still settling in. He decided then he would do everything in his power to make sure Sherlock stayed that way.

John sat down in the hard plastic chair woodenly, he then caved in on himself; the adrenaline was gone. There was nothing to be done now, except wait.

He always hated that part.


	7. Chapter 6

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter six

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

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><p><em>12 days ago 0615morning<em>

The first thing Sherlock noticed was the soft beeping of the monitors_. _The smell of disinfectant was the next. Hospital, he deduced_. _He heard the sound of light snoring; he knew that sound anywhere, John. Since John only snored when he was excessively tire, Sherlock determined he had been in the hospital for several days.

Sherlock ventured to open his eyes only to be rewarded with a spinning room. He closed them again breathing as deeply as obviously broken ribs would allow. He steeled himself and tried again more slowly. This time when he opened his eyes the room did not tilt or spin.

Sherlock heave a sigh of relief.

He looked over to where John was folded into the chair. Although he would not admit it aloud, he took comfort in the fact that John was there. He studied him briefly. He then looked at his surroundings while mentally cataloging his injuries. His body felt like lead and his throat like it was stuffed with cotton. He looked at the bedside table and saw a cup. He reached for it.

Pain exploded in every part of his body. He could not stop the moan that escaped pass his lips.

John jerked from his sleep. He blinked a few times and instantly processed the sound; Sherlock was moaning. John immediately looked at Sherlock and found gray-blue eyes staring back at him. John smiled despite the circumstances, relief washing over him as he made his way to his friend. He felt guilty for falling asleep but pushed the sensation aside.

Sherlock tried to speak but coughed. John hurriedly got him water. John held the cup to Sherlock's mouth since Sherlock's trembling hands could not hold the cup unassisted. He drank a few gulps greedily and then nodded to John, satisfied. He tried again. "Call… Mycroft."

"Well, good morning to you too," John smiled before continuing. "Take it easy. You have been in and out for five days…"

Sherlock weakly held John's arm and his eyes pierced John's. "Now… John." The urgency in Sherlock's voice stopped John. John nodded curtly. He swallowed hard against the realization that only one thing would resurrect Sherlock to his brother; Imminent danger.

There was something big being played out behind the scenes and Sherlock thought only Mycroft would be able to deal with it.

"I'm listening," John said.

John carefully listened to the numbers given and Sherlock's instructions. This phone number was not familiar to John.

When Sherlock realized John would follow his request, he relaxed and melted into the bed. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to quiet the loud noises in his mind. Sherlock knew he would need all his strength to deal with Mycroft.

John pulled out his phone and began.

"_Hello… um… Mycroft…"_


	8. Chapter 7

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter seven

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em><strong>"There is a little boy inside the man who is my brother. Oh, how I hated that little boy. And how I love him too."~<strong>Anna Quindlan_

* * *

><p>Sherlock opened his eyes. He felt his brother.<p>

Mycroft was in the doorway staring at Sherlock. Anthea was with him. "Get me some coffee if you would," he asked her. She briefly looked up from her phone, looked at both brothers then walked away eyes glued to her phone screen, fingers racing across it.

"John, would you excuse us?" It was not a question. Mycroft was used to being obeyed.

"John stay," Sherlock said.

He looked from one brother to the other and then sat down. There was no choice; his loyalties have always been with Sherlock. He did however pick up his book and pretend to read. No one was fooled, of course.

"So, you're alive," Mycroft stated casually.

"Brilliant, your ability to grasp the obvious, it astounds me… constantly," Sherlock slowly replied just as casually.

"Seven months," Mycroft said but received no answer.

"I have resources, I could have …" Mycroft was interrupted.

"Helped?" Sherlock finished for him. "Don't you think you've **helped** enough?" Sherlock's voice took on a singsong mocking quality.

Mycroft silently cataloged all of his brother's injuries. Sherlock, knowing what Mycroft was doing, briefly closed his eyes under his brothers scrutiny.

"Did John know?" Mycroft asked as he walked to the foot of Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes.

"He's known for about a month," he added, "it wasn't safe to let him know before then." Regret was in his voice.

"Oh," was Mycroft's response; his mask fell for a second. He looked like he had been slapped. His face quickly looked blank again, mask back in place. "I've underestimated John," he said.

"People usually do. After the first day we met, I never did again," Sherlock's responded, his voice became tender.

"Why now?"

"Nidal Ayyad. The possible terrorist threats you've been looking into is Nidal Ayyad, he's alive Mycroft. Nidal Ayyad, Ahmed Ajaj , and Joseph Turkin; they are all linked. There is one not three separate threats. They're all tied to Moriarty."

Mycroft's eyes grew wide. "Are you sure Sherlock?" He already knew the answer was yes. He was after all, a Holmes.

"Of course." Sherlock was starting to hurt but would not admit it in front of Mycroft.

After taking a few breaths he continued, "There is a forth connection something unexpected, something different. I was working on identifying the connections when I was… shall we say detained." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in bed. His body stiffened as pain shot through him. He exhaled sharply.

Sherlock looked at John who gave up the pretense of reading; he was trying to decide if he should get up and help Sherlock, or give the brothers their space.

He nodded to John trying to assure him silently that he was all right. John took up the book again, but he did not relax. His body was still tense, ready to be at Sherlock's side quickly if needed.

"Lestrade; you need to talk to him. He has some details you'll need to know." He then closed his eyes, sweat starting to form on his forehead. "You have less than thirty days, Mycroft… well, duty done for God and Country, so you'll excuse me."

Mycroft knew his brother was dismissing him but he would not allow it.

"Sherlock will you **allow** me to help you now?" Mycroft asked

"I'm fine, thank you," Sherlock responded eyes still close.

"Please," Mycroft says simply, sincerely.

Surprised, Sherlock opened his eyes, and looked at Mycroft. Mycroft allowed him to look. Then, Sherlock looked away and said in a small voice, "Home."

"The doctors would never allow it," Mycroft tried.

"We both know you can _manage_ it," Sherlock stated.

Mycroft sighed heavily, "When I said help, I did not mean to help you kill yourself."

Sherlock turned away and closed his eyes, not saying another word.

"Sherlock," Mycroft tried again "If, and I do mean If, I agree to this, I would expect you to listen, to follow instructions; none of your usual tomfoolery!"

Sherlock opened his eyes, looked at Mycroft and replied a little too angelically, "I'll be the very model of cooperation."

Sherlock looked pleased with himself despite the fact that it was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him.

"I did not say I would do it," Mycroft said.

"Yes, you will," Sherlock smirked.

Mycroft could feel his resolve slipping. "I will have my people look at your medical records, and then I'll make arrangements to…"

"**You Will Not… my records are private!" **Sherlock stated in a voice half threat half plea.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed, a dangerous look was on his face. His brother could be melodramatic, but the outburst was out of place, even for him. He glanced at John and saw that he was surprised as well.

Sherlock swallowed and lowered his voice. "Doctor Watson is more that capable of taking care of any medical issues that may arise." A spasm of pain racked his body. A groan escaped before he could stifle it.

John was on his feet now, but stayed in place.

Mycroft grew concerned. "I'll let you rest." He hesitated then added, "You're in pain Sherlock; push the pump for your medication."

"I'm fine. I have to think now." Sherlock's eyes were closed tightly; sweat now soaked his forehead and weighed down his curls.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, took the pump in his hands, and pushed the button, **twice**.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but the sudden rush of pain medication in his veins, ended all arguments as his eyes fluttered shut.

"The very model of cooperation. Indeed." Mycroft ventured one last look at Sherlock. He then swung his umbrella on his shoulder passing a shocked John Watson who eyed him warily. "I will inform the staff that you are to have full access to all reports and test since you are to be primary in his care. I will of course keep my word and not look _myself_."

He looked John in the eyes and an understanding passed between them wordlessly; John nodded once. He knew Mycroft was showing self-restraint and trust in him.

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft said as he left the room closing the door behind him.

"That wasn't awkward at all," John said sarcastically

John walked up to Sherlock, observing his sleeping form. Something was bothering him, like an itch in the back of his brain. He had pushed suspicions, concerns, and worries in the back of his mind. They all came rushing forward now. He frowned as he thought back.

Both he and Sherlock was injured before; occupational hazard. This time something was different, something was eating at Sherlock, unnerving him. John wondered what he was missing. He rarely left Sherlock's side except briefly when the staff changed him or dressed his wounds.

He closed his eyes and thought. He thought back, cataloging injuries. It was so dark and Sherlock was so bloody when he found him; the priority then was keeping him alive. His frown deepened as he put the puzzle together.

John stilled, his whole body stiffened.

There was the night before he fully regained consciousness. He had cried out in his semiconscious state and mumbled words that John quickly dismissed as being drug induced, but what if they were actually flashbacks, memories. "Dear God," he said in a whisper. "Please let me be wrong."

He looked at Sherlock.

With the dose Mycroft gave him, he had at least forty-five minutes before he would awaken. He hesitated only slightly then steeled himself and marched out the door.


	9. Chapter 8

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter eight

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon now, and it had been busy. All of the, fluids and monitors had been removed but one.<p>

The only remaining intravenous fluid was removed when Sherlock threatened to "remove it himself." John argued at first but soon conceded since Sherlock could drink for hydration and swallow pills for pain .

In view of the fact that Sherlock was fully conscious and more stable, he was transferred to a private room on a less critical unit. The police detail had also been removed. The search was on for Nidal Ayyad who seemed to crawl back into the dark hole he crawled out of.

Lestrade spoke briefly to Sherlock over the phone. Mycroft was on the phone back and forth with John.

John was not sure where Sherlock was getting the strength, but knew he needed to rest. He was starting to look as pale as he did days ago.

"You need to sleep now," John said simply.

Sherlock's eyes grew heavy, "I'm not a child," he said pouting, "I know when I need sleep."

As if on cue Sherlock yawned.

John folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, trying to make a point without words. Sherlock looked embarrassed as he stifled another yawn.

John received a text. "Mycroft," he informed Sherlock. "I'll pop outside the door for a minute so you can sleep, I'll be right back."

John pulled out his phone as he turned to leave.

"John," Sherlock said as he grabbed the edge of John's shirt, almost reflectively.

Sherlock immediately pulled his hand away, embarrassed.

"Sherlock?"John asked concerned.

Sherlock did not acknowledge his actions in any way. Instead, he played with the corners of the sheets, busing his hands as if he was afraid they would betray him and reach for John again.

"Sherlock," Sherlock stopped his fidgeting and looked at John, "you okay?"

John felt stupid for asking such a question and apologized with his eyes before continuing. "I mean, I can wait until you're asleep to use the phone or I can text from here."

Defiance, fear, pain, and rage flashed in Sherlock's eyes as he folded his arms gingerly around his torso and said "I'm..."

"FINE," John interrupted finishing for Sherlock, his arms now folding around his chest mimicking Sherlock.

"You're fine… fine… bloody fine… never anything less than FINE!" John closed his eyes and raked his hand through his hair making it stand on end, then sighed.

Sherlock's lips were set in a very determined line. He shook slightly but refused to look away from John.

Sherlock waited.

"Lestrade arranged for me to stay with you," John smiled sadly

"He knew I would not leave you just like I know you would not leave me if I was in that hospital bed." Both men kept each other's gaze. A silent battle of wills was taking place.

John approached Sherlock slowly, nonthreatening, and stood by his bedside. Almost close enough to reach but not touching. Wanting to give comfort, but waiting for Sherlock to indicate how he needed to be comforted.

"This is me, John...Sherlock, asking for help or admitting you're afraid doesn't mean you're weak just hurt."

Tears were slipping down Sherlock's face now; Sherlock's carefully constructed self was slipping. A sob escaped as he tried to contain it. Still he stubbornly refused to look away.

John took one-step closer. "Something seemed wrong, so I read the reports. I put everything together… The day I found you, the wounds, and the changes in behavior… Also, you were vocal when you were...asleep."

_"_I know… not the details, of course, but I have an idea of what… happened. I know Sherlock, I know … everything."

Sherlock looked away now and wept while subconsciously reaching out for John. John closed the short distance to the edge of the hospital bed. Sherlock grabbed his shirt, pulled him close, and wept openly.

Sherlock choked on sobs that left him gasping for air, and feeling like his soul would split in two. John put his arms around Sherlock and allowed him to weep on his chest.

John's voice was steady but heavy with emotion. "You don't have to pretend Sherlock; not with me… not ever with me."

* * *

><p>Mycroft had closed back the doors softly. Neither one of them had noticed his return. He leaned against the outside of the door with his umbrella for support. He closed his eyes for a minute and allowed himself to just, breathe.<p>

Mycroft made a decision.

He reached for his phone. Anthea answered, "I'll need medical supplies and a private nurse sent to 221b Baker Street." He paused removing his notebook and reading the information written.

"Mrs. Hudson is still attending to her sick sister. From the medical reports she'll probably be there another few weeks. Use the key you have."

"I'll need a car and the doctor will need to discharge Sherlock tonight." Mycroft continued speaking for a few minutes. He paused and waited for her to repeat his instructions, although it was not necessary; she was very good at what she did.

"Oh, one more detail," Mycroft finished, "I need all medical and other records for one Sherlock Holmes to… disappear."

* * *

><p>I have written a few more chapters already and will try to post in a few days. Since this is, my first fan-fiction feedback is always welcome. I particularly want to know if the flow of events is smooth so I can adjust chapters before I post. Thanks to all. I hope you enjoyed.<p> 


	10. Chapter 9

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter nine

Author's note: Here are a few more chapters as promised. I am slowly going forward in time. I will get back to the present soon. Much thanks to all who read. A special thanks to all who take the time out of their busy day to comment and review.

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em>12 days ago late afternoon.<em>

Seventeen stairs, It was exactly seventeen stairs to the top of 221B.

It might as well have been a hundred. Half way up the stairs, John and Mycroft had to practically lift Sherlock the rest of the way. Sherlock was deposited on the couch where he immediately fell asleep from exhaustion. All the blood had drained from Sherlock's face. The sweat on his body was so thick it plastered the clothes to his body and hair to his head. John quickly retrieved a light blanket.

"He will be more comfortable in his room. We'll move him when he's awake and check his bandages," John said.

"I hope you don't mine but I'm staying the night, you'll need help."Mycroft said while leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.

Mycroft usual had other people do the more physical tasks. He did hate to sweat.

"I would send medical staff, but I thought he would be more comfortable with people he knew, at least for tonight. A nurse will be here in the morning unless you think you will need her tonight."

John did not comment immediately, but bent forward slightly with his hands resting on his blue jean clad legs. His sweater had half fallen from one shoulder. He tried to catch his breath.

In all honesty, he wished Mrs. Hudson were here. She had always been good with Sherlock. She treated him more like a son than a tenant. She was one of the few persons with whom he would exchange hugs and kisses.

John has often spied Sherlock with a look on his face that was a mixture of slight annoyance, and deep affection looking at Mrs. Hudson. She frequently had tea with them while running through the local gossip.

"The boys," as she called them, would raid her fridge without asking, and she would come up to their flat with barely a knock on the door.

They were their own family.

John knew she probably would not be back for a while with her sister's broken hip. She had been frantic when she heard about Sherlock. He had to assure her several times that he could manage. He hoped he had not lied.

John finally spoke, "I don't think any strangers should be here now, not even medical staff, unless his condition deteriorates. At that point I'll make a decision."

Mycroft was allowing John to take the lead. He was even cooperative, at least as cooperative as Mycroft ever became. John wondered, not for the first time that day, if the world was ending.

John looked around the flat, it was well stocked.

The flat had medical supplies, food, and medicines, as well as small monitors and a stand. The kitchen was cleaned and stocked with food.

John sighed.

He would ask how Mycroft got in, but why bother. He was both slightly put off and appreciative at the same time. He noticed the two black cars parked outside. Their presence brought some comfort.

Anthea appeared with tea for both men. She spoke briefly with Mycroft then disappeared out the door.

John was fascinated to notice that she could walk down the stair while she text, her eyes never leaving the phone. He vaguely wondered if she text while sleeping.

The rest of the evening was exhausting but uneventful.

There was a flurry of bandage changes, and medicines given. The most serious event was when John had to re-suture a wound that popped two stitches because of the extreme excursion used as Sherlock walked up the stairs. Mycroft to his credit assisted John even though he did look green at one point.

John was responsible for taking Sherlock's blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. Mycroft was responsible for pushing as much fluid as Sherlock would tolerate, and making sure, he was breathing without difficulty.

Both men fell into a comfortable pattern. Sherlock's exhaustion caused him to sleep soundly in between activities.

At some point in the early morning Mycroft and John moved Sherlock to his room. He was asleep the minute his face hit the sheets. They both agreed to get some rest thinking the worst of it was over.

They were both wrong.


	11. Chapter 10

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter ten

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em><strong>"Adversity is the first path to truth."<strong> ~_Lord Byron

* * *

><p><em>10 days ago early morning<em>

At three in the morning, Mycroft stood at the door watching as John soothed Sherlock; this was the second night in a row that he had a nightmare.

Mycroft had awakened to find that John had beaten him to Sherlock's room. Sherlock was screaming and thrashing around in bed, fighting off an imaginary evil.

Mycroft felt like an intruder watching from the doorway. He longed to go to Sherlock; everything inside of him leaned toward Sherlock. In the end, he thought Sherlock would be mortified.

It was Sherlock he was thinking of, was it not?

_Emotions_

He was glad Sherlock had John. He was a good friend, no closer; more like a brother. The thought made him what… sad, jealous? Ridiculous, Mycroft mused; he did not give in to such weaknesses. Emotions make one weak.

Mycroft realized that it was not the fact the Sherlock thought of John as a brother that troubled him, but that Sherlock thought of him as a stranger now.

_Sentiments_

It disconcerted Mycroft that Sherlock was not just crying, but releasing broken sobs that seem to emanate from a broken soul.

Sherlock never cried.

Not when beaten, not when shot, not with a gun pointed at his head.

Well, once, when father died, after an hour Mycroft had found Sherlock in the riding stable. Silent tears were running down Sherlock's face as he brushed down his horse.

Mycroft walked up behind him and silently put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Without turning around Sherlock had put a hand on top of Mycroft's, both accepting and giving comfort.

The brothers never spoke of that day. There was no other time as far as he knew that Sherlock reached out or showed emotions of any kind to anyone, not since he was seven.

Father was a very stoic man and did not tolerate emotions. Sherlock was the opposite, highly intelligent, curious, and full of smiles, warmth and joy; just like mum. Father soon demonstrated in the most severe ways, that Sherlock's passion and free spirit would not be tolerated.

Sherlock went from a giggling, smiling child, to one where tears were rare and emotions rarer.

Sarcasm, stubbornness and defiance became his way.

And, he was stubborn.

"I do not see why it was wrong to inform Mr. McMullen that Mrs. McMullen was having an affair Mummy, it's obvious if he'd bother to notice. Beside he's having one too." Sherlock had said.

The childhood memory brought a smile to Mycroft's face.

Even though Mycroft was seven years older, he remembers being impressed by his younger brother's abilities. When younger, Mycroft had tried to hide his smile at his brother's antics.

Well, there had been no point in the both of them being punished.

_Bloody Sentiments_

Finally, Sherlock had calmed down and fallen back to sleep. Sherlock was never fully awake during these episodes, but was somewhere in-between. John pulled the covers over him and quietly exited the room.

"It's all sorted, Sherlock should be okay for a little while at least." John held a hand to his mouth as he spoke.

Mycroft studied John briefly. His brother was far more gifted in deduction; but tonight deduction was not necessary to see that John was running on fumes.

He barely slept since Sherlock was injured. He held his left shoulder stiffly. His white under shirt was wet from Sherlock's tears, and his striped pajama pants were more wrinkled than it should have been.

John had dozed off while sitting in a chair, afraid to sleep, Mycroft deduced. John knew Sherlock would need him, and was afraid that if he had lain in bed, he would have been too deeply asleep to hear him.

John was watching over him. Always the loyal soldier; always the faithful friend.

Mycroft knew the first time he met John face-to-face in the warehouse that long ago he liked him. Mycroft opened his mouth to say something but John spoke first.

"Are you alright?" John's eyebrow creased.

"I'm fine," Mycroft replied while rocking on his heels.

John chuckled sadly then said, "Well, you two are brothers aren't you."

Mycroft frowned, "Your point being…"

John looked him in the eyes searching, "That's what Sherlock always says."

John turned to leave.

Mycroft shifted on his feet and exhale noisily.

"John you're exhausted, get some sleep," holding up his hand to stop John's protest, he added, "I promise to get you if he wakes." he smiled sadly, "We both know you would be better at … comforting him than I."

John hesitated, concerned but knew Mycroft was right, "Straight away?"

"Of course," Mycroft insisted.

John nodded with a strained smile, and walked off toward his bedroom.

Mycroft's face held a grim expression as he walked to the end of the foyer.

Mycroft sat in the chair closes to the hallway leading to his brother's room, impeccably dressed in his blue strip pajama and dark blue dressing robe.

Only the finest he thought forlornly.

He would not sleep tonight. He would not fail his brother, not again.

Mycroft sighed, repositioned then listened, and remembered… and regretted.


	12. Chapter 11

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter eleven

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em>Late afternoon<em>

Two Holmes in the same flat had been interesting. One was extraordinarily stubborn, the other just extraordinary. John sighed as he observed the two.

"I can do it myself Mycroft I'm not helpless," Sherlock managed in between grunts and grimaces, pain etched on his features.

"Of course you can Sherlock, but since I 'm here anyway…."

"Don't you have a government to run, dictator to overthrow or something?" Sherlock shot back weakly, legs wobbling.

"I have my phone and laptop, Anthea can run my errands, besides…," with a slight hesitation, "… some things are priority." Mycroft stated, arms around Sherlock while helping him to the couch.

Mycroft ignored the rude tone to his brother's voice; this was Sherlock's after all who could be discourteous and arrogant on his best days.

This was not his best days. He has good reason to be distressed, Mycroft admitted to himself.

Sherlock adjusted on the couch and looked into Mycroft's eyes, searching. Mycroft allowed him to look, and looked back, his usual guards were fully down. It was the first and only time John noticed Mycroft vulnerable.

Sherlock suddenly looked away, satisfied; then gave only a slight nod. Mycroft exhaled, not realizing he was holding his breath.

John felt a little uncomfortable witnessing the exchange. The Holmes brother's relationship has always been a mystery. Maybe, this was as close as they came to saying:

'_I'm a git and I'm sorry Sherlock.'_

'_You are a git but I forgive you Mycroft.'_

John did not blame Sherlock's hesitancy. Mycroft in reality had two people he had to prove himself too. Nevertheless, John had to admit that Mycroft had come through for them both. He had rolled up his designer sleeves and helped to change bandages, helped Sherlock take showers and get dressed.

It was surreal to see Mycroft actually being "hands on ". Surprisingly Sherlock, although begrudgingly, allowed it.

For now, John stayed in the shadows and watch. He did not completely trust Mycroft unsupervised with menial tasks. These are the type of things Mycroft usually ordered someone else to do.

Sure, Mycroft behind the scene practically ran the British government, but could he make a decent cup of tea? John knew Sherlock needed time to heal, and not just physically. He needed time to heal his relationship with his brother.

Mycroft busied himself by putting tea within Sherlock's reach and helping him adjust himself on the sofa. Satisfied that Sherlock's immediate needs were met, he walked some distance away.

After making a few phone calls, he walked to the window. He contemplated how the past few days seemed to have blurred by.

He marveled at how much paperwork was needed to legally bring one back to life.

It should have taken thirty days for the paperwork to clear. Mycroft had it done in hours. Well, there was some advantage of his position, Mycroft thought. Mycroft retreated into his mind where he categorized agenda items in order of importance.

There was the media; that had been taken care of.

John was not happy with the timing but Mycroft knew what had to be done.

This time Mycroft had not waited for the media to speculate. He controlled the press release that announced the resurrection of Sherlock Holmes. Luckily, the name of the _late_ Sherlock Holmes was cleared a month earlier.

Sherlock was a hero again.

The hero that fake death allowed him to secretly work with the government.

The hero that heroically prevented a terrorist bombing, despite receiving minor injuries in the process.

Well, it was mostly the truth; apart from Sherlock somehow managing to do it alone, and being more than a little injured.

It was sickening how easily people were swayed with just a few words, to hate one minute to love the next.

Mycroft shifted his weight and exhaled heavily. He was standing with one hand leaning on the wall supporting his weight. He appeared to look out the window, but in truth, Mycroft was lost in his mind.

Mycroft's final consideration was to make sure that John and Sherlock were looked after. He glanced down at the street.

Satisfied that the detail he assign was still outside the flat, he retired to a chair and sat.

He had custody of two of Ayyad's men and one woman. They had hands on involvement in Sherlock's torture.

They would come to know why some called him the "ice man".


	13. Chapter 12

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twelve

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>An anonymous lead, to the possible movement of Ayyad himself, was texted to Mycroft's secure line, with the ending, "… <em>for Mr. Holmes."<em>

The lead proved to be legitimate. Mycroft had to oversee the operation himself. He was not naive enough to believe Ayyad had simply given up and retired back home to have a cup of tea.

Moriarty made Ayyad third in command for a reason. This made him of great priority to Mycroft. He did not want to leave but felt compelled.

This was for the sake of not only a nation, but also Sherlock, Mycroft reminded himself. It was possible Ayyad would come after Sherlock again.

If profiles on Ayyad were correct, this time not to stop Sherlock's meddling, this time it would be personal.

This time it would be for revenge.

Mycroft knew he was too well protected to be a target, but there were a list of people for whom Sherlock cared. Mrs. Hudson and John was on the top of that list.

He had faked his own death to save them along with Lestrade.

Mycroft had put the pieces together.

Sherlock also seems to care about a one, Molly Katherine Hooper. Mycroft personally found her quite annoying despite being obviously brilliant and accomplished for one so young.

He would protect them all on Sherlock's behalf until this matter was resolved.

There was another person whose identity was unknown. Someone Sherlock cares about. This person apparently has been helping Sherlock, even at his or her own risk.

Mycroft supposed that this person was also the one responsible for the latest lead. He had a suspicion he knew who it was, but he was not certain. She was supposed to be dead after all.

Sherlock would never admit to any of this, obviously. He did not have to. It was Mycroft's job to know, to figure out, and to read people.

Mycroft found that people in general were easily read; ambassadors, political leaders even dictators.

But, his own brother had become a bit of an enigma to him of late. He would have to rectify that.

Mrs. Hudson would be home tomorrow. Yesterday, she would have found that her sister's private insurance had reversed a decision and would indeed pay for a live in nurse and an aid.

Sherlock and John had not known yet. It would be a nice surprise for them. It was the least he could do.

* * *

><p>John studied Mycroft quietly. Suit coat was off, vest buttoned. His sleeves were still rolled up and a few places damp from when he had helped his brother to shower. Hair slightly out of place.<p>

It was strange to see the normally impeccable dresses man in such a state, and helping his brother instead of ordering someone else to do it.

He knew he did not have the gift the Holmes Brothers did. The ability to make deductive leaps of logic. To look at a person and see into their soul. He, however, could not help but make a few deductions of his own.

Emotions danced across the face of the normally stoic Mycroft. As he looked at the elder Holmes, he saw relief mixed with regret, anger, despair, and something else.

* * *

><p>Mycroft noticed John scrutinizing his every move. He would pretend not to notice.<p>

He had men _dealt with_ for far less. Nevertheless, with John he would allow it. He liked John. He was fiercely protective of his brother and stood up to anyone who threatened him.

Mycroft did not feel things like regret or remorse, at least not until now. Now he felt it in waves, like a tidal wave crashing over him. He closed his eyes against the assault.

He always felt emotions were a liability. Just this once he allowed it, welcome it for one reason. All these emotions were brought about because his brother was alive.

No one but Sherlock would be meticulous, and clever enough to fool him by faking his own death. In any other situation, he would have been proud.

He sighed and looked at the fire. He tried to identify a new emotion; was it hope? Hope that his brother would fully forgive him… one day.

Sherlock was alive after all.

That is all that mattered in the end.

* * *

><p>John thought he saw a stray tear escape Mycroft's eye. It could not have been, could it?<p>

As he thought about it more, he decided it was probably the fireplace light playing tricks with his eyes.

John looked to Sherlock who had fallen asleep. Good. A sad smile crossed his face. Lestrade would require a statement tomorrow. Sherlock would need all his strength. They all would.

* * *

><p>Author's note: Next chapters are a little trickier, some are already written, but I am trying to balance information while not being too graphic. Suggestions are welcome. New author so, thanks for reading. Please take the time to review or comment :)<p> 


	14. Chapter 13

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter thirteen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em>Present day<em>

The ride to the crime scene was relatively quiet. Donovan was unhappy about being assigned to drive in the other car.

Lestrade had insisted on driving Sherlock.

John and Sherlock sat in the back seat. The ride was quiet. Sherlock's body was still, eyes closed; however, John knew that his mind was anything but still.

John noticed his eyes rolled beneath his closed lids. He knew Sherlock was in his mind palace. It was his way of stilling his body, focusing his mind, and processing information.

John turned and looked out the window as London passed by.

* * *

><p>As Sherlock entered the building, the noise volume suddenly decreased. It seemed as if every police officer and detective's face turned to him, some were shocked, but most just curious.<p>

John walked beside him, Lestrade on the other side and slightly in front. Sherlock looked straight ahead, his steps were slower than normal, but steady. To those who looked, his face appeared, unreadable, blank of emotion. John knew this meant he had put his 'battle armor' on.

"Second door on the right," Lestrade said pulling ahead.

As they continued walking, crowds of officers were left behind. They rounded the corner and came to a series of what appeared to be dorm rooms.

The rooms contained three beds, two were bunk beds. The floors were made of fine dark mahogany wood. There were desks and a large rug in the middle. Items were knocked about, the room appeared to be in slight disarray.

John heard Sherlock sigh, the first real sound Sherlock had made since leaving the car. John looked up, and immediately found the source of his irritation.

"Ah, Anderson here we are again," Sherlock said with a voice as smooth as honey.

Anderson mouth hung open, his eyes bulged. He however quickly recovered.

"So it's true." The shock quickly left Anderson's face and was replaced with anger. "What is HE doing here? We don't need him…" Anderson bellowed, attracting the attention of the two officers close enough to witness the exchange.

John sighed as his body tensed ready for anything, he could feel a headache coming on. "And, here we go." John thought.

Lestrade stepped in between the two men as he faced Anderson.

"You don't think we need him, I know we do, so does Chief Superintendent Pyke. I suggest any complaints be taken up with him. Now Anderson, if you would."

Anderson, pulled away the crime scene tape, and led the way into the room as he muttered to himself, while the two officers who remained outside stared wordlessly at each other.

Lestrade discreetly, pulled at Sherlock's coat to gain his attention. He said in a voice low enough for only Sherlock to hear, "I know he can be an arse, but behave, would yeah."

"As always," Sherlock said sweetly as he followed John into the room.

"I'm gonna have an ulcer before the day is over, "Lestrade muttered to no one in particular as he joined the three men.

John and Lestrade stayed close to the entrance while Sherlock followed Anderson into the room after donning only a pair of gloves .

The next twenty minutes went by uneventfully. Sherlock gathered information making occasional comments to John who would write them down.

Some of his observations contradicted what Anderson had already reported. This did nothing to improve Anderson's disposition.

"As I suspected, there was no struggle." Sherlock reported while still moving.

"How can you possibly say that, books are overturned, the chair is sideways on the floor...THERE. IS. BLOOD!" Anderson spit out face red.

"Staged." Sherlock responded simply.

"Are you sure Sherlock?" Lestrade said ignoring Anderson's rant.

"Of course, the child left willingly with someone. I've narrowed it down to two suspects, but I need more data"

"Why would the child leave with someone when you've said that her life is in danger?" John asked.

" Ah..., finally, the right question," Sherlock stated still moving.

Lestrade opened his mouth to ask a question, but was interrupted by his ringing phone.

"Pop out for a minute," he said excusing himself from the room. He glanced a _behave yourself_ warning to both men as he walked away already engrossed in conversation on the phone.


	15. Chapter 14

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter fourteen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><strong><em>"The chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness."~<em>**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

><p><em>Present day<em>

Anderson, still fuming, took Lestrade's absence as an opportunity to irritate Sherlock. He made a few spiteful comments. Surprised that Sherlock did not react, his boldness amplified. Anderson's attacks were growing more personal by the minute.

John was standing just outside the room leaning on the wall.

John, debating whether he should interfere, looked at Sherlock with concern; but noted that Sherlock was showing incredible restraint.

He decided to wait and see if Anderson would tire of the insults.

Except for some narrowing of his eyes, Sherlock gave no outward indication that he was paying any attention to Anderson.

Sherlock busied himself on his phone looking up information and texting. He looked across the crime scene slowly. He then closed his eyes, and with the exception of odd synchronized hand movements, was perfectly still in body.

Sherlock opened his eyes and cast a contemplative gaze toward the window. Sherlock spent five minutes by the window and floor below it, Sherlock's second suspicion was confirmed; this kidnapping was not what it appeared. Even worse, he believed he found the link.

His magnifying glass out, he was heavy in concentration and did not notice the fact that Anderson's insults had grown quiet. He was studying Sherlock. He noticed the faded bruises on his face, and the way he moved slowly, almost guardedly.

Sweat had formed on Sherlock's forehead, the man never sweats, Anderson thought. Anderson also noticed the way he subconsciously held his ribs and abdomen as he lowered and straightened his body .

The newspapers mentioned something about Sherlock receiving minor injuries in the terrorist raid. This was two weeks ago and he was still recovering. From what Anderson was seeing, his injuries were not minor.

Sherlock took a sample by the window ledge. He received a text from Barts, it was Molly with the results of the lab test he had requested earlier that day. Sherlock read the results. He smirked.

Sherlock's back was turned to the entry. One of the officers tripped and fell hard against the door. A loud bang resulted followed by cursing.

It was Sherlock's reaction that caught the attention of Anderson. He flew upright and his bodies stiffened as though he was ready for an attack. He stifled a gasp of pain that the sudden movement caused.

Anderson's eyes narrowed.

"Sherlock" John said simply with worry etched on his face.

Sherlock nodded woodenly to assure John he was okay. Sherlock's back was to the front of the room. He closed his eyes as he tried to even out his breathing. He swallowed hard against the sudden panic, forcing it back, locking it away; _again._

A moment passed in silence.

He knew even Anderson could not have missed his reaction. He prepared himself as he took one more breath. He picked up his magnifying glass that had slipped out of his hand. Then turned and waited for it to begin.


	16. Chapter 15

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter fifteen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em>Present day<em>

Anderson noticed the bruises on Sherlock's wrists when he bent to get his magnifier.

Anderson smiled.

Anderson had been the 'Golden Boy' of the Yards until Sherlock came along. Now resentment, jealousy and guilt at his part in Sherlock's false arrest worked against him, adding fuel to the fire that came out in the form of fury.

Some part of Anderson knew what he was about to do was wrong, but the desire to finally get to the great Sherlock Holmes, silenced the small voice inside that screamed at him to; _**Stop**_!

"So," Anderson began, "I heard the big hero had a bit of a run-in with some terrorist. What's the matter_ freak_, did they throw you a party or _something_," he said the word _something_ slowly as the smile spread wider on his face.

Sherlock ignored him and walked out the room peeling the gloves from his hands. John followed behind invading Anderson's personal space as he looked in his eyes giving warning.

The two officers gave space for them to pass, hearing the exchange not quite sure what to do. One left thinking that it was best to get the Inspector.

Sherlock threw the gloves away and turned to walk.

Anderson, enraged and embarrassed that Sherlock had ignored him; grabbed at Sherlock, whipping him around.

"**Don't ignore me, or, do I need whips and chains to get your attention!" **

Anderson honestly had not meant to do it, but as he grabbed Sherlock's arm to spin him around toward him; Sherlock tripped on the Biohazard bin by the door.

Sherlock's normally quick reflexes failed him because of the stiffness and soreness from his injuries. As he fell, he did manage to pivot away from his abdomen and ribs.

However, his shoulder took the brunt of the fall.

The air was knocked out of Sherlock and the fall did nothing good for his ribs, the pivot however prevented him from re-fracturing his healing bones.

John was calling his name. It would probably be a good idea to answer, Sherlock thought.

"Fine, John." He managed to say breathlessly, while stifling a groan as John and an officer helped him up. The same officer handed a napkin to Sherlock, he accepted confused. He turned and looked at John for an explanation.

"Your lip Sherlock, you must have hit it, it's split and bleeding a little."John clarified.

As Anderson looked around, a few officers and Donovan had made their way to the back, wondering what the commotion was about.

Anderson had meant to embarrass Sherlock, but now angry eyes looked at him. Donovan met his eyes, then quickly looked away. Was that revulsion he saw?

Bitterness now joined his anger.

John after helping Sherlock up looked at Anderson. His hands without him consciously realizing it, balled into fist.

John walked toward Anderson. As he pulled back to strike him, Sherlock managed to step close enough to hold his arm, firmly.

"John I'm finished here." Sherlock said while looking into John's eyes. One hand was holding John's wrist firmly, one hand was wrapped around his abdomen.

John closed his eyes, counted to ten… slowly, sighed then lowered his fist.

Looking Anderson in the eyes, he said before he turned to walk away, "You were very small today, and very wrong!"

They turned to leave.

"WAIT," Anderson call, "I was wrong."

Sherlock and John paused. Sherlock eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"It was handcuffs, not whips and chains. It seems that Sherlock is not the only one that is a bit of a freak is he Doctor Watson. Loss a bit of control when you slammed the hand cuffs on Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned as his narrowed eyes met Anderson's grin. He did try, he thought. He hoped Lestrade would understand.

As Anderson looked into Sherlock eyes, his smile faded. It occurred to him too late that he had misjudged both the situation, and the man.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading , special thanks for commenting and reviewing.<p> 


	17. Chapter 16

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter sixteen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em>Present day<em>

Anderson tried to shake his head to clear the fog, but he could not move. He had been slammed against the wall by Sherlock who had his elbow on his throat, squeezing; not hard enough to choke, just hard enough to make a point.

When Sherlock spoke, he was inches from Anderson's face and looked down. Anderson had forgotten how tall the freak was. Sherlock's tone was low and dangerous, as if they were having a private conversation.

"Anderson, I don't care what you **say** to me or about me, but I would ask you to please; extend all courtesy due to Dr. Watson."

Sherlock's eyes traveled up and down Anderson quickly before he spoke again. "I know you started drinking early this morning, and no, the mouthwash doesn't mask the smell completely. Your wife has finally had enough and left you, my sympathies, **for her **that is. Moreover, she took the kids, you are a decent father at least; I hope that works out. Finally, you're sleeping alone these days." He glanced at Donovan, then back. "Good for her. Still no reason to be rude, do you agree?"

"What the bloody hell is going on!" Lestrade yelled. The back area was now crowded with curious officers, and one unfamiliar female detective.

"Nothing Detective Inspector, just a misunderstanding," Sherlock said as he backed away.

Suddenly freed, Anderson caught himself before he slid to the floor.

"By the way," Sherlock whispered to Anderson, "if you ever lay your hands on me again, **I… will… break … them.**"

"Alright, back to work," Lestrade, said as he came up to Sherlock and John, "Anderson my office this afternoon!" Everyone mumbled and discussed the events as they returned to their assignments. Most agreed that it was certainly more exciting with Sherlock alive. Only Donovan stayed.

Strangely, no one offered to help Anderson as he sulked away rubbing his head.

Now that the adrenaline subsided, Sherlock closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness and pain ran through him. Maybe he did hit the floor a little harder than he originally thought. He placed an outstretched arm on the wall leaning for support, while catching his breath.

"You okay mate?" John asked as he discretely tried to look him over.

Sherlock started to say fine, but stopped himself; this was John after all. He instead spoke the truth.

"A little pain, maybe more than a little, just needed to catch my breath. I think we can go now. I might need help but I'd rather try to make it myself, more dignified… Oh, and I need to see Mrs. Green, Katie's mother, immediately; can you arrange it Lestrade?"

John and Lestrade eyebrows creased, as they looked at each other; shocked. When Sherlock did honesty, he did it all the way.

"Ah, Lestrade will you help Sherlock to the car?" At Sherlock's questioning look he pointed to his neck. "I know how much you love that bloody scarf. It must have slipped off during… your talk with Anderson." John explained.

Sherlock nodded and started walking gingerly back to the car. He held the wall as he walked with Lestrade by his side.

John sighed and turned the corner heading back toward the dorm. His eyes swept the floor as he went along.

"Looking for this," a voice startled him. Smiling, the female detective held out her hand and in it was a blue cashmere scarf.

"Thanks," John said as he took the scarf from her hand. John's fingers briefly brushed against her fingers. John cleared his throat. He decided he liked her smile, it seemed sincere, real. He smiled in return.

Her brown chestnut colored eyes held his for a minute before it dropped to the ground, "Well I'd better be getting back," she said as she walked away.

"Thanks, Um," he called out unable to think of her name.

"Mary," she said without turning. "By the way, Anderson is an arse."

John decided he definitely liked Mary.

* * *

><p>**Thanks to all for your comments and reviews, I consider everything said.<p>

Tomorrow I will post again, and I have a special surprise for anyone who is interested.

New authors love comments, I find them both helpful and encouraging so please keep them coming, Thanks again:)


	18. Chapter 17

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter seventeen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>Present day<p>

As John walked back he ran into Donovan. He heaved another sigh intending to go around her. "The day gets better and better," he mumbled to himself.

"He didn't mean it," Donovan said.

"He's under a lot of pressure. The freak must have said something, done something." Donovan alleged as John passed.

"Rubbish," John stopped suddenly.

"But the freak…"

"Why do you call him that, freak I mean, not Sherlock or Holmes?"John felt the anger coming back.

"He doesn't care," Donovan said she looked from the floor, to John, to the floor again.

John stepped closer to her. "Are you so blind so arrogant that you can't see what you're doing. I knew Anderson was an idiot but you, I at least thought your mistakes were misguided but honest ones. Are you that much of a git that you can't admit when you're wrong. That you were wrong about Sherlock! You call him a psychopath. However, a psychopath does not use as much restrain as I've seen him use today, he kept me from striking Anderson. You say he only cares about himself, but he puts his life in danger repeated for others, and does not even want a thank you. Had the thought occurred that a little girl's life is on the line, can you two put jealousy aside for a minute."

"If you or that lover of yours, says anything to offend him again; I swear, I swear you'll have to deal with me."

"Sounds like you're in love." She said quietly all the anger dissipated.

John swallowed hard and surprised himself when he heard himself answer.

"Yes, not in the way you two have so _clearly_ implied. He is my best mate, my echo and other half. I'm pass caring how that sounds, it's the truth."

"He's like a brother to me; a very annoying little brother at times but, a brother none the less, family. He drives me crazy often, but I don't want to live a day without him."

"He doesn't wear his emotions on his sleeve true enough, but he has a heart if you'd bother to look. You will show him respect and you will not _ever _call him that name again."

John took a breath pinching the bridge of his nose, and then continued. Definitely, a headache he decided.

"Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly," Donovan whispered

John walked away.

"Tell him I am sorry, would you," Donovan said voice breaking slightly .

Without looking back or slowing, he responded "No. Seems, that's something **you** need to do."

He would not make it that easy.


	19. Chapter 18

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter eighteen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>Present day<p>

John scooted into the back seat of the car, sitting opposite Sherlock.

Lestrade glanced back and smiled before starting the engine and smoothly pulling into traffic.

Sherlock looked at John curiously for a few seconds before speaking.

"Donovan or the new detective?"

"Oh, both…How" John said, not surprise just curious.

"You're a soldier, you have an above average and quick pace. You are concerned about me so would have only stopped for a brief conversation. Since you were gone seven minutes longer than expected ,a confrontation but not just any confrontation. The only confrontation important enough in your mind would be Anderson or Donovan. Anderson slinked away embarrassed so that leaves Donovan. Obvious."

It was always so simple when he explained it, John thought to himself. He handed Sherlock his scarf. Sherlock took it smoothly and slipped it on his neck.

Sherlock then leaned against the leather car seat and closed his lids, soon his eyes rolled under it. His breathing was regular but his hand made periodic, synchronized movement. Processing information, John realized.

He in his mind palace again, John thought.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose sharply, while his eyes flew suddenly open. His body simultaneously jerked upward. Sherlock held his ribs with one hand and hissed at the pain the sudden movement caused. Sherlock gripped the edge of the car seat with the other hand. Sweat was on his upper lip and forehead. He stared straight ahead seeing no one. He attempted with success to regulate his breathing .

John was familiar with the episodes Sherlock has had since his escape, and knew he was attempting to regain control of his body. He was concerned on many different levels. But, he was most concerned because something was odd and slightly different about this particular episode. It nagged at John.

"Sherlock , what is it?" he asked after giving him a minute to compose himself.

" Crying is louder…harder to… ignore," Sherlock said in a low almost monotone voice. He continued to stare forward.

" Sherlock you're going to have to explain," John responded in what he hoped was a casual voice.

Sherlock blinked several times as if seeing John for the first time. "It's nothing."Sherlock whispered, attempting a small smile. He closed his eye again . This time John could tell his mind was not in his palace but present.


	20. Chapter 19

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter nineteen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>Present day<p>

John's worry deepened. He glanced a look at Lestrade who risked glancing back at him with questions in his eyes. John simply shook his head to indicate to Lestrade he had no idea what was going on. Lestrade nodded his understanding.

John noticed that Lestrade would periodically glance at Sherlock in the rear view mirror, a concerned look on his face. John as well would glance at Sherlock then turn the opposite way to look out the window. Sherlock's eyes remained close.

When John had looked at Sherlock for probably the tenth time in half an hour, Sherlock commented with his eyes still close.

"Would to two of you refrain from staring, it's the tenth time in half pass the hour; -**it's-quite-annoying."**Sherlock said in a singsong like voice, while opening his eyes and resuming to staring straight ahead.

John noticed with some relief the return of Sherlock's sarcasm.

"How could you _possibly_ know that?" John asked, exasperated.

"Breathing patterns. You subconsciously hold your breath when there are sudden and substantial changes in head position. I counted ten changes in your breathing pattern, which means ten changes in head position, simple." Sherlock looked John in the eyes; he had one eyebrow raised and was smirking slightly.

A comfortable silence passed for a few second.

"I see," John said, "since your- um-awake, would it do me any good to say that you need to rest even if just briefly, that I need to look you over to make sure you didn't re-injure anything or need medical attention, and you need to eat and take medication for pain?"

"No," Sherlock replied flatly never leaving John face.

"Well then, drink this, it's a mug of tea, take one instead of two pain pills these are not your regular pain medication, it won't make you drowsy. Your mind will still be clear. The disadvantage is that it will only take the edge off of the pain, you'll still hurt some." John pulled out the pill.

Sherlock eye the pill with disdain then sighed took it and swallowed washing it down with half a mug of tea. John would have liked the entire container drank, but was happy with what he got.

"Thank you. I know that was hard for you," John said.

Sherlock nodded and looked out the window.

"John don't worry I'm …"

"Fine?" John asked gently.

Sherlock signed and said nothing at first, but then said, "Even if I was not, John, there are events playing out that's bigger than me. In addition, little Katie is an innocent caught up in the middle. I do not matter, John."

John frowned and spoke with sincerity.

"Don't ever say that Sherlock. There are people that you matter too…" with a slight pause John continued, "… you matter to me."

Sherlock said nothing but continued looking out the window.

"You once said you weren't a hero Sherlock..," John stated but was interrupted by Sherlock.

"I'm not," Sherlock stated flatly.

"I see." John said with a sad smile.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock turned to look at John with a questioning look.

"Nothing, only that's what a hero would say," John responded. Sherlock continued to look at John for a minute; a contemplative look on his face, and then back out the window. Sherlock spoke again this time his voice wavered a little.

"John you concentrate on keeping me together long enough for this to be resolved. I'll concentrate on finding Katie, and stopping what I think is about to happen."

"And, what would that be?" John asked with some trepidation.

"Chaos."

* * *

><p><strong>**Update<strong>: The surprise I was mentioning was that I have written a new story call **A Study of the Heart **by Zacha. The surprise is that; even though it can be read as a standalone, for those who are reading **Deleted Memories**, It is the untold story of the last conversation between Sherlock and Irene . It has six chapters and is complete so you will not have to wait for new chapters to see what happens.

*Time line wise:** A Study of the Heart **occurs after the introduction but before chapter one

*I think I like putting up multiple chapters, so more is coming soon for Deleted Memories.

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite:)


	21. Chapter 20

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twenty

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite:)<p>

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>When choosing between two evils, I always like to try the one I've never tried before."<em> **~Mae West

* * *

><p><em>Three days earlier <em>

Several people were involved, but no one knew of the others involvement. Everyone was holding a piece of the puzzle not seeing the complete picture once all the pieces were put together. He preferred it that way.

It was fairly heavy foot traffic a lot of people were walking. He blended into the throng of people. He hated the cheap material of the thin wool coat, and hat he wore.

He looked up at the sky. It may rain. London was notoriously damp. He then glanced at the camera to his right, sideways, moving only his eyes. Most people did not know that the cameras were not as useful if you did not draw attention to yourself.

He craved a cigarette. He really should give it up, dangerous for the health. A smile came to his face. He glance again at another camera, his glances were not apparent thanks to his glasses. He struck a match. Cigarette smoke ascended from the cigarette, before being broken into ribbon by the wind, and finally dissipating in the air.

He looked at the match as it burned until it completely consumed the wooden stick, it burned his fingers slightly. He blew it out without flinching.

He loved a good fire.

The only thing he loved more was the sound of screaming after a loud explosion.

He also loved the smell of tissue burning when he puts out his cigarette on flesh. The screaming was like music to him. His smile widened at the memories.

He got to his destination but did not slow his walking pace. He noticed the sleek, black, car positioned outside the flat.

Even if the CCTV's face recognition software scanned him, he has had a new face for months now. Only three people knew what he looks like outside of his key men.

One was dead, two soon would be.

The woman was a problem, she was very elusive. He would hunt her down once he got the location from the third person; the man sitting in that apartment he just passed. He continued without slowing. Closer now, he held in his smile. He almost wished he could see the detective's face. He had caused him quite a bit of trouble.

He now knew that Holmes had at least some responsibility for his decease boss's kingdom collapsing. Not that he minded Moriarty's death, fear alone kept him from assassinating Moriarty himself. He wanted to take over his kingdom, now there was not much left to take over, thank to the troublesome man.

Moriarty's criminal empire had been torn apart. He would gladly return the favor.

He would not escape him a second time.

This time it's personal he thought as he disappeared into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the sea of humanity.


	22. Chapter 21

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twenty-one

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite:)<p>

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

Mrs. Green was not in the room by herself. Another woman that he deduced was most likely a relative, and several staff members surrounded her. Sherlock leaned against the wall observing while going over data and information in his mind. Donovan was finishing the questioning.

"Shouldn't you people be out there looking for my daughter? The only thing you've found is your own incompetence." Ms. Green was obviously losing patience.

She was dressed in a slick suit with a white shirt underneath. Her long brown hair was swept up and pinned in place. Her brown eyes had a fire in them. It reminded Sherlock of the pictures of Katie on the fireplace.

Several pictures were scattered around the room with varying scenes in the background. Sherlock glanced around her sitting room and observed the furnishings; they were conservative. She had not shed a tear, stiff upper lip kind then. However, the under eye makeup did not completely hide the fact that she had lost much sleep in the last forty-eight hours.

Sherlock read the text from Molly and smiled. "Excellent," he whispered while smirking. Molly always came through; she was always faithful. In some ways, Molly was very much like John.

He frowned slightly unsure why Molly has been in his thoughts so much lately.

He would remember to make some small sentimental comment about how he appreciated her. Maybe even get her a small gift for her upcoming birthday. He thought it was pure rubbish but knew she would not.

That's what normal people do is it not?

His thoughts returned to the case. He knew what he had to do. Something in the back of his mind told him that John would be displeased. He pushed it away. Results are what mattered his logical mind reminded him.

Sherlock discreetly asked Lestrade to clear the room. The room was cleared except for Lestrade, John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Green.

"Don't interfere," he whispered to Lestrade and John. He walked up to Mrs. Green.

Who is this?" Mrs. Green asked.

"Hello," Sherlock said smiling while he extended his hand, "Sherlock Holmes."

"Holmes… Holmes…" realization came to her. Worry, and fear flashed in her eyes but was quickly replaced with a business like mask. "The Mr. Holmes I presume." She was curious about the slight bruising on his face and split lip but said nothing out of politeness.

Sherlock said nothing but gave a slight nod.

He walked over to a picture of Katie with her uncle.

They were both at the beach with bathing suits on. Katie's face and her uncle's were much too close to the camera lens, with her hand playfully in front of her uncle's face. Her face was captured in a fit of hysterical giggles. His face was captured looking at her laughing. The picture seemed odd, out of place. The rest of the photos had various family members in tradition poises looking quite stoic and proper.

He picked it up, "May I?" Sherlock asked with a small smile on his face

"Of course," she responded her eyebrow now frowning slightly.

He walked close to her and stared at the picture. "Her uncle?" It was not really a question.

He lowered the picture close enough for them both to see. "She's beautiful. That looked like a happy day."

"It was," Mrs. Green responded. Her serious mood lightening slightly, her walls lowering a little.

"Who took the picture?''Sherlock asked still smiling.

"I did. Her uncle Edward, that is his name, has always been close to her, good with her. They have similar personalities; they are both open and wear their hearts on their sleeves," she responded.

Edward and your husband James Green; Adopted brothers." Again, it was not a question but a statement.

"Yes," Mrs. Green answered, "I sorry how did you know…"

"And now, where is her father?" Sherlock interrupted all smile aside, his business like face on.

"He's away quite a lot. He's currently on a business trip, a merger. James knew I could handle this situation, I always do." Mrs. Green said matching his business like tone. Her smile disappearing as well.

She stood and crossed her arms. He noticed she was shaking slightly.

No, I mean Mr. Edward Green, the younger; Katie's father."


	23. Chapter 22

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twenty-two

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite:)<p>

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

A look of shock was on Mrs. Green's face. She stood with her mouth slightly agape, but said nothing. She stared straight ahead for a moment then turned to look at Sherlock. Her eyes were deep pools filled with fear that overflowed in a single tear.

"It was the blood on the window," Sherlock explained, "Edward and Katie shares the same blood type with one difference. He has a very mild type of a rare blood disorder called hemophilia, the subtype he has is even more rare. In short, it takes him a little longer to stop bleeding.

Normally it is the females who are carriers. They pass on the disorder to their male children, while they themselves have no symptoms. But, in this subtype, type C, the male can pass on the gene." Sherlock glanced briefly at John who nodded his agreement, then looked back.

He took one step invading Mrs. Green's personal space. She was shaking with a grim look on her face.

"You are not a carrier; you have no family history of hemophilia. But, Katie is a carrier. Three questions Mrs. Green. Care to explain how your daughter acquired a disease, when neither you nor your husband is a carrier? Care to explain how Edward's blood was found on a window ledge at the scene of your daughter's kidnapping? And, most urgently where is Edward Green?"

"Get out," it started as a whisper, "I said out...get out… NOW!" She ended in a shriek pointing to the door and screaming while shaking.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade and John both were trying to get Sherlock's attention, discreetly.

Sherlock, just as discreetly held up one hand behind his back. John and Lestrade stepped back again.

Sherlock face softened as he stepped close and looked into Mrs. Green's eyes with a sad smile. "Don't be afraid, let us help you. No matter what they say to you, not being completely honest is the worst thing you can do. Katie must be found soon Mrs. Green." She cried softly while searching his face.

"I know it must be hard for you having to be strong all the time. I sympathize. Secrets weigh heavily on the soul, don't they?" Sherlock said gently, sincerely. He had completely invaded her personal space now.

"I cannot lose her, I love her. I don't say the words often, but I do," She whispered, tears starting to flow freely.

"I know," tears were in Sherlock's eyes now, they silently ran down. Mrs. Green collapsed in his arms and wept great broken sobs.

They both cried. Sherlock had tears fall in silence while he whispered assurances. Mrs. Green cried openly broken hiccupping sobs.

Donovan came to check back with Lestrade to see if she was needed. She saw the scene of Sherlock crying while holding a sobbing woman. Donovan was dumbfounded. She turned to go when Sherlock's voice stopped her.

"Donovan, Mrs. Green will need to make… changes to her statement," Mrs. Green nodded her agreement while trying to quiet her sobs.

"Do give us a minute, please." He responded in a thick voice, somewhat broken with emotions.

"Of course," Donovan responded as she turned to leave and give them time to compose themselves.

Donovan wiped at a stray tear that witnessing the exchange had caused.

"The freak…," She corrected herself, she meant to say, "… Sherlock certainly had changed."

Donovan glanced at her watch. She would give them ten minutes. That should be enough time she reasoned.


	24. Chapter 23

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twenty-three

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite:)<p>

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

Lestrade looked down, clearly uncomfortable with the sight; he also glanced at Sherlock with concern before looking down again.

John cleared his throat and blinked away tears. Most people including Sherlock himself denied that Sherlock had feelings. Sherlock allowed John to see vulnerabilities that he doubted even Mycroft had seen.

He knew Sherlock had feelings, but he never displayed them in front of other people. John worried that the stress of the case , his injuries, nightmares, couple with the memories; had Sherlock on the edge of some emotional precipice. Thinking that his friend was hurting in any way was making him fight off his own tears.

He looked at Sherlock, wait… John's eyebrows creased while his eyes narrowed.

Did Sherlock just discreetly look at his watch? He looked closer.

Was that his, '_I'm bored but John told me to remember how important timing was face_?'

John observed more closely.

Donovan returned now. Sherlock looked relieved but covered it quickly. He said goodbye-giving Mrs. Green one last hug.

Sherlock accepted the napkins Donovan gave him. He gave one to Mrs. Green who wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. He sniffed and wiped his own tears. Sherlock walked toward the door with an expression of sadness but confident determination.

John, eyes narrowing more. He slowly whispered, so quietly that no one heard him, "Son of a …"


	25. Chapter 24

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twenty-four

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite:)<p>

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

Lestrade asked, "Is he gonna be alright?"

John smiled a small smile, and then nodded.

"Greg can I have a minute, alone with Sherlock?" John asked a grim expression on his face.

"Sure… sure mate, let me finish out here. Ten minutes, okay?" He briefly squeezed John shoulder, cleared his throat then walked away while pulling out his phone.

John turned to walk away, when Lestrade's voice caused him to pause.

"Meet you both by the car." Lestrade threw over his shoulder.

John exited through the side door. It emptied into a beautiful English garden that had a partial white fence. The house sat on a corner, so the side and front of the house faced the road.

John did not have far to walk before he came upon Sherlock. John pulled his coat tighter around himself to keep the wind from blowing into his coat.

Sherlock was perfectly composed, texting information. _Perfectly calm_.

John crossed his arms, furious.

"Good. Excellent!" Sherlock said to himself smiling as he looked at the screen on his phone.

Sherlock grimaced slightly then composed himself fingers flying across the phone again.

John's anger was forgotten, and for the moment replaced with concern. "Pain medication wearing off?"

"Some, not too bad I can handle it." Sherlock shrugged, that caused another grimace.

John's concern about Sherlock, his general displeasure at what happened, and an awareness of the fact that time was running out for Katie; collided together in his mind - causing him to become agitated. He raised his voice as he spoke.

"Well you're pushing yourself too bloody hard… you need to rest… an hour or two at the flat _as I told you earlier!_ You need food; and something to drink will do you good. And there **is** medication for pain you know… I know you don't want to fog up that massive brain on that massive head of yours, but **I don't want you further injured!**"

John stood with his hands on his hips breathing in and out heavily, a side effort of his rant.

"Feel better?" Sherlock asked, eyes never leaving the phone.

"Some." John responded.

"You're angry because…" Sherlock was searching the internet now.

"That… that terrible display in there." John said slightly dumbfounded.

"I thought it was rather good personally," Sherlock countered.

How the man manages to look both arrogant and offended at the same time, John did not know.

John anger increased. "There are **real** people with **real** feeling in there. I had bloody tears in my bloody eyes!"

"Are you saying I'm not a **real **person?" Sherlock asked calmly changing the subject. He put his phone away and paid full attention to John now.

"Um, of course not but…" John started to speak, but was interrupted by Sherlock who stepped closer to John, invading his personal space.

"You should know by now that I will do whatever is necessary." Sherlock spoke slowly his voice was like steel.

"But Katie…," John said losing some of his steam, voice lowering somewhat.

"**Exactly**!" Sherlock voice rose.

Sherlock locked eyes with John, speaking in a calm voice.

"Look John…," he started, "… everything, I said was sincere. I held her the appropriate length of time to convey feelings of kinship, even when I was starting to feel bored. I thought you would appreciate that."

Sherlock sighed, "Look John, I admit the tears were a bit put on, but I needed to first throw her off balance, and then show her I had sympathy. If a few tears open her up and makes her trust me enough to cooperate and **in fact** give us the information to save a little girl, would that not make it necessary?"

"**Yes! I suppose you're right!**" John said.

"Then why are you yelling," Sherlock asked calmly.

"Because I don't have to like it!" John stomped away to the car, hands swinging wildly.

"Coming Sherlock?" John asked over his shoulder.

"Yes John," Sherlock said in a long-suffering tone. His eyebrows wrinkled in thought.

Yes, John was trustworthy, loyal and a faithful friend. He also could be amusing. That caused a smile to appear on Sherlock's face.

But, at times like this, John could be overly emotional.

Sherlock thought of sharing this observation with John but reconsidered, thinking it not wise at the moment. John did own a gun.

Sherlock smile faded. He knew how to find Katie, now only one part of the puzzle was still missing, himself.

Sherlock looked at his friend's retreating form; put his hands in his pocket pulling against the wind. A look of determination came across Sherlock's face as he followed.

Neither Sherlock nor the others noticed the smoke that ascended from the man who watched, just outside of their field of vision.

Unnoticed.


	26. Chapter 25

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twenty-five

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><strong>*<strong>Thanks to LePetitErik, whose private messaging motivated me after an _interesting _day. To the rest of you who have so kindly taken the time to comment, review and favorite, lots and lots of love :)

Thanks for reading.

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

He looked out the window as he closed the door to the car. A chilly day he thought as he picked up his phone. The man was a soldier for hire and use to discipline. Yet, he could not seem to stop smoking. It was his job to keep an eye on the troublesome detective Holmes. There was no movement. Holmes never left the apartment. Now suddenly, Holmes was running around from place to place with two men accompanying him.

He inhaled the last part of his cigarette then opened the door a crack to throw the bud of the cigarette on the road.

They were at Green's house now. Their contact had warned him. His boss would not like this. He cursed and closed his eyes. Sighing he opened them and resume his surveillance.

Holmes was outside now and talking to the smaller man. He was taught to observe closely. Although not obvious, they were having a small disagreement. He could tell by the stiffness of the body of the blonde haired smaller one.

He looked closer. The smaller one was walking away to a car where a larger graying man was waiting. The graying man must be the Inspector he decided. He walked with a calm authority.

There was something about the smaller man that bothered the soldier.

The soldier looked at the smaller man and frowned.

The smaller man was a combatant; he was a soldier too. He had seen the battlefield. He also seemed to be within a few feet of Holmes at all times. He would have to watch him. Maybe his boss would agree to have him shoot the smaller man.

A bullet in the head solves many problems. But of course, it creates some as well, especially if you are trying to be invisible. The soldier smiled while deciding if he should have another cigarette.

He observed Holmes, he was alone now looking in the direction of the little man. He had only seen him for the first seven days after he was captured, after that he was reassigned. However, he heard of what had happened after he left.

The soldier glanced at his jacket pocket.

No, he decided, he would wait for another cigarette. He turned his consideration back to Holmes.

He looked at Holmes closely.

He was surprised to see he was not still recovering. Here Holmes was walking around fine… but wait …, he just stopped suddenly and held his side. The shine on his neck, sweat? It was hard to tell from this distance. Holmes was in pain, and trying to hide it.

Holmes was a strong one. Good, this fact would make it more interesting, he thought.

The soldier would have thought Holmes was closer to death than life the week he left, when **she, **finished with him. Except… those eyes defiant, full of fire. He knew then what many of his comrades did not recognize, including that idiot Novák . Holmes was a survivor. It was eighteen days ago now, since his escape. Holmes would have made a good soldier.

Novák was Holmes main guard. The man was not completely professional. He could only imagine what he did when no one was looking. The soldier smiled again.

He knew they should have just killed him two bullets to the chest, but the bosses wanted information. The soldier shrugged to himself. Well, he thought, it was the boss's party he should be able to choose the cake.

Holmes was almost to the car now. The soldier would follow behind the government car. Really, did they always have to have black cars? The solder chucked to himself. The phone rang and he spoke in Czech. "Yes, he got to her … (pause)… What are your orders…" the solder started his car as his smile widened.


	27. Chapter 26

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twenty-six

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite:)<p>

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

They had interviewed the mother, and was on their way to Mycroft's office. Afterward, Sherlock wanted to revisit the school.

John looked at Sherlock. His eyes were closed, rolling under his lids again. Discrete synchronized hand movement. "Mind palace," John thought. He must be processing the event of the last few hours.

Sherlock stopped and opened his eyes frowning. Wariness was etched on Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock it's been ten straight hours." John whispered close to Sherlock.

"Mycroft tried to text me twice. I am surprised he did not try to call you." John put his phone back in his pocket.

"He did," Sherlock smirked, "I put my phone on silent, beside…," he continued, "… we are being followed. A black car two cars back."

John looked back concerned. When Sherlock saw John's expression, he added "Mycroft's."

John visibly relaxed.

"I am sure they have been giving Mycroft regular updates," Sherlock supposed.

"You at least need to eat and would it kill you to take a break?" John said with some frustration.

"Me … no… little Katie, perhaps." Sherlock looks his friend in the eyes and saw his resolve slipping but not entirely.

"At least eat Sherlock," holding up his hands to stop the protest he knew was coming, John added, "It'll be a working dinner, and Lestrade can bring whatever you need. Molly can upload the information to your phone or laptop if you prefer. Mycroft has agreed to meet us at the flat instead of his office. Mrs. Hudson made some soup. You need rest!"

As if on cue, he swayed forward in his seat as the car spun out of focus for a minute. He tried to steady himself by grabbing John's shoulder as John simultaneously put his hands up to steady him. It did not however stop the world from turning black.


	28. Chapter 27

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter twenty-seven

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

A short chapter today. Tomorrow more. Feed me please!

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

Sherlock blinked rapidly trying to focus, rolling his head back and forth on the car seat, trying to clear the fog. A moaned escaped Sherlock's lips. He heard voices.

Sherlock tried to understand what was happening as his mind slowly cleared. He realized that Lestrade had pulled over the car and was leaning over the back seat and had joined John in calling his name. John was also lightly tapping his cheeks.

"John?" he asked as the loud buzzing sound in his ear dissipated. He had slumped in the back chair. It took him a moment to deduce what had happened.

"Oh," Sherlock said in a low and annoyed voice. "Don't tell me that I …"

"Yes Sherlock you swooned," John said with folded arms, irritated.

"I prefer loss of consciousness, it sounds more masculine." Sherlock said flatly.

"Bloody hell Sherlock you scared me. I was about to call emergency services." Lestrade joined in while letting out a breath.

"You're both being a bit dramatic, aren't you really? I rested my eyes for a second and…" Sherlock was interrupted as he attempted to sit up. John gentle pushed him back.

"Stay," John said to Sherlock as his phone rang, he looked at his phone and curse before answering.

"Hi, Mycroft… (pause)… why did we stop?" John turned toward the window and continued a whispered conversation with Mycroft.

"There will be no more arguing you're going back to the flat, we'll do it John's way." Lestrade added looking angry now.

Sherlock was silent.

"Your flat now!" Lestrade raised his voice.

"I decline," Sherlock said simply, defiantly.

"Your brother wants to speak with you." John said giving the phone to Sherlock.

"Sorry, tell Mycroft I am recovering from swooning." Sherlock replied sarcastically as he closed his eyes and folded his hands on his lap.

**"Take the phone!" **both men shouted startling Sherlock whose eyes flew open. He looked from John to Lestrade and back to John. Not liking what he saw in their eyes, he grabbed the phone.

"Hello brother dear… (_pause_)… and if I don't…," Sherlock listened to the conversation on the other line.

Whatever Mycroft said on the other line caused Sherlock's eye to narrow. He now spoke through gritted teeth.

"You would not dare… (_pause_)… **FINE!**" Sherlock disconnected the phone, he cleared his throat casually before speaking

"Flat please."

"All sorted?" John asked not attempting to hide the smirk.

"It would appear so," Lestrade answered for Sherlock with a smirk of his own.

"It's a conspiracy," Sherlock said as he stifled a yawn. Both men chuckled.

Sherlock was not amused.

Lestrade turned around and started the car again.

As much as he hated to admit it, they were right. He knew he was pushing too hard, even by his own standards. Sherlock also knew he had no choice.

A pattern suggested time was running out for the child. He also knew that a terrorist threat to London was more than a possibility.

Despite what he said, he respected the Yard, particularly Lestrade; he was mentally sharp for a normal person. They were intelligent enough to figure it out eventually, just not in time. It was not an arrogant thought, just a fact.

And, time was something Katie did not have. Sherlock's eyes grew heavy. A slight tremble ran through his body. He hoped he would not dream, and if he did, he hoped the terror would stay away.


	29. Chapter 28

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 28

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>Hi everyone, I had trouble downloading yesterday, so more chapters today.<p>

LoL (Lots of Love) to all. Talk to me, I'm listening :)

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

The remaining ride back to 221 was quiet. Sherlock slept until they arrived.

John finally broke the silence, "Sherlock."

No response.

John frowned and said his name more loudly, "Sherlock."

No response again.

Sherlock was usually easy to arouse. John looked at Sherlock closely, and studied him.

He was a naturally fair person on his best days but now he almost looked ghostly. A little color had returned in the last two weeks since leaving the hospital. But, for the last two days, no three days he began to look almost as pale as he did when he left the hospital.

Something was off.

Oh course something is off you twit, John thought; the man is recovering from major injuries, surgery, and torture.

No one but Sherlock knew what truly took place.

Sherlock's official report to Lestrade about his kidnapping was very vague. He gave a lot of information about Ayyad and possible future targets but when it came to what happened to him personally; he only said that there was physical and mental abuse.

No one pushed the subject further.

John looked at Sherlock.

John thought enough time had passed. He had allowed Sherlock a few more minutes to rest. He could not delay longer. Lestrade was starting to look anxious.

"Sorry Sherlock, time to wake," John shook him firmly by the shoulders and gave a good tap to the cheeks.

Nothing.

"John," Lestrade said fully turning around again.

"It's nothing he's just exhausted, Greg," John said unsure if that was the truth.

John shook his shoulders a little harder and tapped his face.

Lestrade assisted John by tapping Sherlock's leg while John called his name and shook his shoulders.

After a minute, the Inspector pulled out his phone to call emergency services.

"Give him another minute. Sherlock's just tired wait," John said with more confidence that he felt.

What John failed to tell Lestrade was that if Sherlock did not respond in the next two minutes, he would call the emergency services himself.

Suddenly, Sherlock hand twitched, and he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly.

"Oh we're here," Sherlock said as he stretched, and gingerly opened the door and exited."Coming," he asked Lestrade and John.

"Sure Sherlock…," Lestrade smiled apologetically and shrugged, "… sorry a bit motherly today, I keep seeing danger where there is none." Lestrade followed Sherlock in.

John smiled back at Lestrade, but John's smile faded once Lestrade walked away.


	30. Chapter 29

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 29

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

* * *

><p><strong><em>It is not flesh and blood but the heart that makes us family.<em>** ~inspired by Johann Schiller

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

Mrs. Hudson heard Sherlock as he stepped inside the flat. Sherlock normally moved like a cat, silently; but today he seemed to drag his feet.

Sherlock was not as considerate of his body as he should be. The intellect seemed to be his only concern. Mrs. Hudson had thought about these things while she waited for the boys to arrive. Earlier she had busied herself by making dinner. Now, the table was all set and tea was a boil.

Sherlock entered the flat first.

Immediately Sherlock knew something was wrong. The smile on Mrs. Hudson's lips seemed forced.

"Sherlock dear, food is on the table. Have a seat, Lestrade good to see you again." She kissed John on the cheek. Her smile suddenly seemed genuine.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson but just tea for me, I'll be off to my …" Sherlock never finished.

"Sherlock Holmes, You **will** eat something dear, you are still recovering."

Mrs. Hudson's face barely concealed her annoyance.

To most people Mrs. Hudson was a sweet helpless little old lady, but Sherlock knew the truth. She was a force to be reckoned with.

He also knew that the corner of her lips twitched when she pretended to smile, but really wanted to slap you. His mother had the same twitch.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. What was wrong? She only called him by his first and last name when….

Sherlock's face had a look of mild shock. He turned to John, his eyes were two bullets and John was the target.

**"Really?"**

Sherlock creased his eyebrows and growled, "Why is everyone so concerned about my dietary needs today?"

John shifted from one foot to the other but stared back at Sherlock's face crossing his arm.

"What was I suppose to do? She called to check on you, I wasn't about to die. "

Sherlock looked confused, "John you mean lie."

"No I mean **DIE** if she found out I lied, and kept your health concerns from her."

Sherlock stood with a look of astonishment on his face for a few seconds. Then he moved.

Sherlock got in Mrs. Hudson's personal space and raised himself to his full height. Sherlock did this when questioning a suspect that he wanted to intimidate; then he said through gritted teeth.

"Mrs. Hudson, I am a grown man and **I have decided** that I am not hungry, thank you." Every word was said slowly and perfectly pronounced. He also as a backup produced his most intimidating glare.

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and took Sherlock by the arm leading him to the table. He allowed himself to be lead away, but not without a pout on his lips.

"Sit young man," she said almost pushing him in the chair.

He obeyed but did not mask his displeasure.

Sherlock folded his arms, a pout still in place.

John cleared his throat then, sensing the drama was over, and offered to get the tea. It was the only missing part.


	31. Chapter 30

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 30

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

Lestrade who had watched the entire display with part amusement, part terror; suddenly rubbed his hands together and sat down.

"Smells amazing as always Mrs. H. Would you pass the biscuits Sherlock," Lestrade asked purposely trying to annoy the man.

Lestrade briefly wondered if Mrs. Hudson was interested in a job at Scotland Yard.

Sherlock was never one for obscenities. His mother taught him to be a gentleman. However, today was special he thought.

Sherlock opened his mouth to impolitely tell Lestrade to "get it himself," but spied Mrs. Hudson raising one eyebrow and staring at him, arms folded.

Mrs. Hudson had seen Sherlock's expression.

Sherlock opened his mouth, thought better of it, then closed it.

He grunted but handed the basket of biscuits to Lestrade without comment.

"Thank you Sherlock," Lestrade said before adding.

"And the butter too, Pleaseeeeeeeee." Lestrade did not hide the smile.

Sherlock saw red.

"Would you like me to tell you where to put the butter…," Sherlock started, glaring at Lestrade.

"SHERLOCK!" Mrs. Hudson interrupted.

"Well he started it!" Sherlock said rolling circles with one hand in the air dramatically. This caused a grimace.

Sherlock was feeling quite sorry for himself now and did not mind showing it.

"Sorry Sherlock." Lestrade said somewhat chastened.

* * *

><p><em>221B was the one place Sherlock allowed the wild horses of emotions to show. Usually, it was only with John and to a smaller degree Mrs. Hudson. But, today he was not physically or emotionally able to keep up the barriers once his mind realized that he was safe at home.<em>

* * *

><p>John had stood back and quietly watched the entire drama unfold with mild amusement. He now spoke.<p>

"I'll get your pain medicine. The real ones this time, so you'll need food in your stomach." John said while walking to Sherlock's room.

He walked down the long corridor then entered Sherlock's room.

The man kept his room remarkable neat and uncluttered compared to the rest of the apartment. He was also meticulous when it came to his appearance. Designer suits every day.

That and their remarkable minds were the main similarity John thought the Holmes brothers shared.

John often wondered how someone as young as Sherlock did not even own a pair of blue jeans.

He walked to Sherlock's bedside and grabbed the bottle off the table. He stopped and looked around.

That feeling came to John again.

Something was out of place today, no several days.

John, for the second time that day, chided himself and ordered himself to stop being ridiculous.

Still, John did not move.

John turned and looked at the bed. Most people would be shocked to know that Sherlock Holmes tidied his bed every morning.

What bothered him about the bed?

It was the decorative pillows.

Sherlock never put the decorative pillows on his bed, Mrs. Hudson did.

She made it up three days ago.

Then why were the pillows still on the bed three days later?

Of course, Mrs. Hudson must have made the bed again today, somehow. The woman was a saint. Still, she was away most of the day, wasn't she?

John realized he was snooping.

Sherlock would probably deduce this fact by saying that he was gone an extra two minutes or something equally ludicrous.

John shook his head again and exited the room.


	32. Chapter 31

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 31

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

LoL (Lots of Love) everyone.

* * *

><p><em>Present day <em>

John was back now and gave Sherlock the pain medication. To everyone's surprise Sherlock frowned, put the pills in his mouth, and gulped a little tea to wash them down. All this without his usual argument about why he does not need his mind clouded.

"What?" Sherlock asked because every eye was on him.

"Um, nothing dear," Mrs. Hudson remarked as she cleared her throat hoping everyone would understand that they needed to **immediately** stop staring at Sherlock.

They did.

The table once again was filled with talk and laughter as everyone ate their evening supper. Everyone, but Sherlock.

Sherlock was quiet and looking quite miserable. Mrs. Hudson's face softened as she got up and moved next to Sherlock..., her Sherlock.

"Sherlock dear," Mrs. Hudson was leaning over his shoulder now, anger long forgotten. "Take a bit of soup it's your favorite," She kissed him on the cheek.

Sherlock had a hard time resisting Mrs. Hudson when she smiled. He nodded once still pouting.

He took a spoon full of the creamy, warm liquid. It was rather good.

"It's tolerable," he said with a blank face.

Mrs. Hudson's smile widened. Coming from Sherlock, that was high praise.

Mrs. Hudson kissed Sherlock on the cheek again then returned to her chair.

Sherlock had finished half the bowl before realizing it. His eyes were heavy but he fought against it.

He picked absently at his violin now.

John hoped Sherlock did not notice. His eyes seem to be traveling to Sherlock, studying him. He was not altogether sure why.

The door opened.

"Am I late," Mycroft asked looking around the room, face landing on his brother. Of course the answer was no. Mycroft was never late. If fact, John thought, he was right on time.


	33. Chapter 32

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 32

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

Short chapter, more much later today or early tomorrow. LoL (Lots of Love)

* * *

><p><em>Earlier today<em>

She turned on the bed. The room did not have very good light, but she was not afraid, she was not a toddler like her cousins. She sniffed a little.

Maybe, she was a little afraid, but just a little.

She was a big girl. Did they think she was a baby, she knew that these men were not Uncle Eddie's friends no matter what they said.

She missed Uncle Eddie. She missed Bokee her teddy bear. She hid it from the other girls, all except Mandy her best friend. Mandy never teased her about Bokee.

She was thirsty, but she was afraid to drink the water. They forgot to let her use the bathroom and she had an accident.

A tear fell and Katie angrily wiped it away. Mummy did not cry and father never cried, so she would not cry.

She could not stop the sniffle.

Uncle Edward told her it was okay to cry. She missed him. She wished he would come back.

Katie's stomach growled. She allowed the tears to come, just this once.

Katie curled on the bed and closed her eyes, hoping when she opened them, she would be at home.


	34. Chapter 33

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 33

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

More chapters, LoL (Lots of Love)

* * *

><p>Mycroft laid seven files down on the cleared dining room table.<p>

"Sherlock found the link to Katie's kidnapping; it was a terrorist for hire group, which was once under the control of the late Jim Moriarty." Mycroft picked up a file and opened reading.

"In the last two years, there has been an increase of seven percent in terrorist activities worldwide. Countries excluded for the most part have been England, France, America, Russia, and Spain. I must no longer include Germany because of the bombing of Air France flight 1270 last summer. The flight's origin was Germany, its destination: Russia. Technically, the explosion took place over German soil, but it was due to the failure of the Russian government to act upon anonymous warnings presented to them."

"I remember the bombing on the telly," John commented.

"Yes, we had to increase security and put extra police forces on the streets," Lestrade joined in.

"Yes," Mycroft started, "we received a series of anonymous tips two weeks earlier. Can you guess the targeted countries?"

"Russia, England, America, France, and Spain," John asked.

"Yes," Mycroft smiled, "anonymous tips came in to Russian, American, and English intelligence; as well as, French, and Spanish governmental agencies. All agencies, all countries acted except one."

"Except Russia," Lestrade deduced.

Mycroft nodded.

Mycroft glanced occasionally at his brother. Usually in these situations, it was difficult to get a word in as the excitement of a puzzle being put together got the best of his brother.

Today, Sherlock sat quietly in the corner with his fingertips together and in front of his face, staring at the wall.

"The plan was simple enough; five airplanes, in five different countries, with five bombs ready to detonate within twenty minutes of each other," Mycroft shifted at the dining room table before continuing.

"Thanks to a series of anonymous tips, four of those five bombs were discovered and removed. Four out of five planes full of people went about their lives, unaware of how precarious their lives had become. Imagine my surprise, when it was revealed that the covert activities, which led to the anonymous information being sent to us, were coming from a very much alive Sherlock Holmes."


	35. Chapter 34

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 34

* * *

><p>Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy<p>

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)

LoL (Lots of Love)

* * *

><p>John and Lestrade looked at Sherlock who sat quietly.<p>

"The public is aware of Air France flight 1270's explosion only, but not about the bombs found in the four other airplanes. They are also not aware of the fact that two Russian chemists were on board flight 1270. In fact, every targeted plane had chemists aboard except one. The American airplane had a physicist," Mycroft finished.

"We did not know it then, but the events had ties to a very much alive Ayyad. The now dead Chemists had agreed to help gather evidence in exchange for protection, relocation, and not being formally charged for their duplicitous actions."

Mycroft continued, "Every airplane contained scientist who had ties to Ayyad. Two were found to be less than faithful, so all but three were murdered. He apparently thought it was time to, clean house."

"He blew up a plane to cover murders," John asked incredulously.

"Yes and no," Mycroft explained, "he was contracted to blow up the planes by various terrorist groups; he just made sure that the people he wanted to kill were on board. The man if nothing else was efficient."

"It was quite brilliant really. If a criminal group wanted a good old fashion bombing done, for a fee he would carry it out. Bombings were his specialty under his former boss, Moriarty. Ayyad however, also specialized in drugs and sex trafficking. What attracted these groups, were Ayyads rare gifts of being able to slip pass security, and provide the perfect accomplices to carry out the attacks."


	36. Chapter 35

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 35

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

LoL (Lots of Love)

* * *

><p>Sherlock spoke for the first time, "Have you located Ahmed Ajaj?"<p>

At John's puzzled look, Mycroft explained, "He is one of Ayyads associates the one that abducted Mr. Müller's wife."

Mycroft then turned to Sherlock who was still staring at the wall, and answered his question.

"We have people on the ground currently; we should know something within the hour, Sherlock."

"Do you mean the Müller, the suspects that blew up the plane Müller," John asked with surprise.

Mycroft nodded.

John glanced at Lestrade who did not seem surprised by the news.

"How is Müller and the rest of these people tied?" John asked.

Mycroft answered, "Sherlock has been examining the data, so this is the part which I hoped for Sherlock to clarify."

"Sherlock, if you would." Mycroft added, hoping to draw his brother out of the unusual quietness.

Sherlock sighed then turned around; he glanced briefly from face to face before explaining.

"All the suspects in the bombings have one thing in common. Someone they want to protect. In addition, they have a certain personality profile that makes them more likely to… do whatever it takes, to succeed in their assigned missions. They are the perfect undetectable _criminal_, the invisible man."

"These are law-abiding citizens with no criminal record or ties to criminal activities. They willingly walk into buildings, trains, and airplanes; and detonate bombs, killing themselves and masses of people."

"Several people are _recruited_ for each terrorist event. Each accomplish had a specific part to play without knowing of the other's involvement," Sherlock explained.

"Why would anyone agree to such a thing?" John asked

"Love," Sherlock said weakly, "I have always said that it was the most dangerous of emotions."

Lestrade asked, "What do you mean Sherlock?"

"Let's use flight 1270's suspect as an example, Müller. He was a successful business executive by all accounts. He lived a very dull and uneventful life. He had one wife who was pregnant with their first child. Mr. Müller, who has no criminal affiliations or history of mental illness, walks on a plane and detonates a bomb dying instantly along with two hundred and twenty three passengers."

"Yes, but we knew that from the media," John said

"What the media was not privy to was that there were three persons involved. One was a janitor who was mysteriously hit by a car after the bombing, one a mechanic who accidentally drowned while taking a bath, and of course Müller himself. Like Müller, not one had a criminal record or history of depression or was suicidal."

Sherlock paused, closing his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Sherlock, you okay," John asked while trying discreetly, to look him over.

"Sorry, um…," Sherlock frowned and looked at John. Anyone not knowing Sherlock would have thought him to be just fatigued. However, John saw embarrassment as well as the beginning of panic on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock Holmes had forgotten what he was about to say. John of course, would pretend not to notice. They all would.

"Was anything else left out the media Sherlock," John asked casually, as he sat back crossed his legs, and took another sip of tea.

Sherlock exhaled the breath he was holding, and glanced gratefully to John. He then sat back and continued, as if nothing odd had happened.

"What was also left out of the media was the fact that they threatened Müller's pregnant wife."

"They threaten to kill her," John stated.

"Worse, they threatened to kidnap her for seven months then return her," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock how is that worse," John asked confused.

"When they returned her they promise to … cut the baby out first. Müller was shown pictures of the last individual who did not take the terrorist threats to heart. Needless to say, they proved their point.

"Why not go to the authorities," John asked while swallowing the bile that had suddenly come to his throat.

"They were all under twenty four hour surveillance; on their phones, houses, cars, even mobiles." Sherlock answered grimly.

Sherlock continued.

"I suspect that's why Edward Green took Katie. When he was threatened, he took her from her bedroom at her school. Easy enough, the building was practically abandoned for holiday. It was a sentimental attempt to protect her. Of course, he was completely out of his depth."

"Green, with the mother's knowledge devised a plan. Mr. Green called Katie telling her to leave her room window open. Her… shall we call him _uncle_ Mr. Edward Green tried to sneak in the window and take her out, cutting his hand on the damaged wood. This accounted for the small amounts of blood found at the window and floor beneath."

"Edward Green never knew his phone was bugged."

"The Greens never reached more than a few kilometers away from the emptied school. Katie was taken as insurance that Green would cooperate. It took the true kidnappers less than five minutes to stage Katie's room."

"Of course, Katie will never be let go, she saw their faces. She will be used in the bombing in some way. This all goes back to Ayyad."

"It was a win; win for Ayyad. The nation's attention is focused on a kidnapping, and away from his activities. He would receive a very large ransom from a wealthy Mr. James Green. And, he gets what he wants the most," Sherlock ended frowning.

"And that would be," John asked with some trepidation.

"Bomb," Sherlock said looking at John.

"Mr. Edward Green is a chemist," Sherlock added.

"It is not difficult to imagine why a know terrorist wants a man who knows how to put chemicals together," Sherlock looked at Lestrade, then Mycroft, then John. He then resumed staring at the wall.


	37. Chapter 36

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 36

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

LoL (Lots of Love)

* * *

><p><em>An Hour Later<em>

Mycroft had been in the flat for an hour and was finishing briefing John, Lestrade, and Sherlock.

Sherlock spoke with Mycroft; they were trying to narrow the possible terrorist sites for the next planned attack.

It would occur somewhere in London within two weeks according to Mycroft's analysis. Sherlock did not believe they had that much time.

Mycroft's people came in and out, including Anthea.

Mrs. Hudson had excused herself for the afternoon. She would be at her sisters for the weekend. She left precooked food for them to live off of in her fridge.

Mrs. Hudson did not trust the boy's refrigerator. Sherlock resumed some light experimentation, some days prior because he was bored.

With Sherlock confined to the flat all day, they conceded. It was experiments or bullets holes in the wall.

Everyone noticed that Sherlock looked worse as the evening proceeded. He looked increasingly pale and became quiet again. Sherlock did not do quiet anytime he had an opportunity to demonstrate his deductive powers.

It had been a long and particularly draining day. Sherlock had practically fallen asleep sitting in the chair. It was now late, an hour or two before sunset.

Everyone in the room was shocked when Sherlock moved from the chair to the sofa without being told.

He retired to the sofa intending to shut his eyes for just a moment. He was asleep the minute his head hit the sofa pillow.

Sleep claimed him, whether he was ready or not, and so did something else.


	38. Chapter 37

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 37

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite :)<p>

LoL

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong>_**We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival."** _~Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><em>Present Day<em>

A half hour after falling asleep, Sherlock thought he heard his name being called. The sound was far away and muffled. He felt something, a touch. Fear filled Sherlock, like water filling in a cup. It poured itself into him until it ran over.

Not again, he had to get away, he had to get away, he had to get….

"Sherlock!"

The room faded in and out of focus. Sherlock's heart was beating wildly; beads of sweat ran down his forehead and soaked his neck, back, and collar of his dress shirt. The face of a madman shifted in front of him, and then melted away. The room started to come into focus.

Sherlock felt his lungs burn, he did not have enough air. He took a moment to concentrating on breathing, and tried to focus his mind.

Someone was calling his name again. No… not someone… John.

"John?" Sherlock's voice was raw as if he had been screaming.

Sherlock shook his head.

Sherlock was crouched in a defensive position on the floor with his back against the wall. One hand was bent at the elbow in front of his face as a shield. His already injured body felt sore, as if he had been fighting.

Sherlock looked at John who was kneeling beside him, John managed to say "It's alright Sherlock, you're safe, no one is here Sherlock, no one's crying…," John repeated words of comfort in the voice he usually reserved when he spoke to fragile victims of a crime.

Is that what he had become, Sherlock wondered, fragile… a victim?

"John," Sherlock said again. He looked across the room trying to make a deduction.

Think, Sherlock told himself. Why was it so hard to concentrate? He noticed that his breathing was coming much too fast, so did John.

"Sherlock, slow down your breathing." John inched his way with both hands raised up in a non-threatening gesture. "Your breathing Sherlock, remember your breathing. One... two... three... four...**in**, one...two... three... **out**…."

Sherlock nodded woodenly and locked on to John's voice, concentrating on breathing.

He felt himself starting to relax. He looked around now, collecting data mentally. The lamp was overturned and rested next to the sofa on the floor. A teacup set was displaced on the floor, sharp shards of the broken cup were scattered near the lamp. Also, on the floor were a knife and a broken biscuit.

Sherlock closely observed John for the first time.

John's shirt was pulled out on one side; his hair was a bit disheveled. One side of his face was red. His eyes stopped traveling when it reached John's right arm… his shirt on that arm was cut, and a small stain of blood appeared and was spreading slightly.

Sherlock frown and looked down at his hands that were now clinched into fists.

Did he hit John, **hurt** him in some way? Sherlock's eyes shifted to the knife.

"Nooo," Sherlock whispered, as his eyes grew wide.


	39. Chapter 38

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 38

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

A very special thanks to LePetitErick who is voluntarily rereading Deleted Memories from the beginning to point out typos, you are amazing! Four eyes are much better than two.

**"_Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall."_ Confucius**

* * *

><p><em>Present Day<em>

John frowned in confusion and followed Sherlock's gaze to the knife.

"No...No, it's my fault Sherlock. You had your eyes opened but you were unresponsive, I tried to get you to respond." John's voice broke; he put his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat before continuing.

"Fifteen minutes Sherlock. You were catatonic and completely unresponsive. Sherlock, you were gone. I panicked; it was never this bad before. I was about to call Mycroft."

John took a shaky breath.

"Usually, when I call your name you… _snap out of it_, and within a few minutes, fall back to sleep. This time…."

Sherlock looked at the cut on John's shirt and back into John's eyes.

John understood and answered his unasked question.

"Your eyes finally started blinking. I touched your shoulder. I should have known better. You started fighting and screaming for me to get away and not touch you. I was startled and fell against the table hitting my face. The cup broke and must have nicked me."

Sherlock visibly relaxed and exhaled loudly.

John raised himself up and put a hand out.

Sherlock after a moment's hesitation took John's hand and allowed his friend to pull him up.

Sherlock leaned against the door. His suit jacket was neatly on the back of a dining room chair. He considered getting his jacket; his body was chilled from the air that met damp skin. His shirt was damp with sweat. He shivered more. Must be the cold he decided.

"You should take care of your arm, John," Sherlock spoke so quietly it was a strain to hear.

Sherlock walked over to the chair, picked up his jacket then put it on and buttoned. He considered going to his room to change but his feet felt heavy, and the walk too far. Instead, he turned and stared out the window.

John looked toward the bathroom, thinking of the first aid kit under the sink; but felt uncomfortable leaving his friend alone even for a short amount of time. John stayed. He always stayed.

The room seemed to be closing in on Sherlock. He pushed the feeling down, somewhere deep and dark and locked it away. At least that is what he hoped he did.

The younger man heard John's voice coming from behind.

"Sherlock, you've had a flashback, and it's getting worse. Bloody hell I knew it, you've been hiding it from me…"

John was furious.

"I have not heard you the past few days because you haven't been sleeping the past few days. I thought the nightmares had stopped. I should have known: the excessive yawning, falling asleep in the chair and odd places, it's not like you. I thought it was because you were recovering." John's voice was full of emotion, barely contained.

"Sherlock, will you look at me?" John pleaded.

Sherlock turned around and faced John.

"After everything we've been through; as long as we've been together, don't you trust me?" Hurt and worry replaced the anger in John's voice.

"You were tired John; I noticed the dark circles under your eyes. You couldn't go around staying awake all night trying to take care of me. I didn't want to become some pathetic joke." Sherlock seemed lost, childlike.

Instantly it changed. Sherlock blinked several times as his mask fell in place. To look at Sherlock now, one would have never known that the last twenty minutes had occurred.

Sherlock started to collect the items that had spilled on the floor, and the lamp. He replaced them on the side table, with the exception of a teacup that was broken. Sherlock frowned, and put the broken pieces in the bin. He then picked up his violin and played. The bow moved against the strings of the violin in long jagged strokes producing an oddly sad, strangled sort of a sound.

Sherlock's face was expressionless.

Sherlock never put his mask on when it was just the two of them. Although Holmes was a very private man, he and John had gotten very close. He allowed John to see a bit of his soul. The former army doctor saw and knew things that no one else knew.

He knew that Sherlock laughed a lot, especially the last six months before… _the fall._

He knew that Sherlock had a wicked sense of humor. He still remembers the severed hand in his bed when he woke up, all because he said that no one read Sherlock's blog. It took three washings to get the smell off his sheets.

He knew that Sherlock cried, not boohoo crying. But a tear ran down his face when a little girl, a recovered kidnap victim scream; all because Moriarty had a look alike kidnap her, and her brother, in an attempt to frame Sherlock.

Sherlock could not stand the fact that a child, any child would think that he would hurt them.

John knew his friend's secret: Sherlock was an arrogant bastard, but an arrogant bastard with a big heart. He understood John and knew him better than anyone, and now Sherlock puts on a mask? Why… something was very, very wrong and this terrified John.

"Sherlock, you have to speak to **someone**. Talk to a professional, talk to Mycroft, or how about you talk to me," John pleaded.

John had given up on trying to keep his voice from breaking.

_Sherlock was as silent and as still as a stone._

"So… you're just going to pretend that this did not happen…. because let me tell you… that plan is working well, **isn't it!**" John was dumbfounded.

"**John**," it was a warning, he had stopped playing but still had the violin under his chin.

"You have to talk about it; you talked to me when I had night terrors about the war, it helped."

"**John stop**," now it was a plea, the violin fell from his hand as Sherlock started breathing harshly.

Practically shouting John said, "I'm not going to stand by and watch you fall apart without a fight. You do **remember **how to fight, **don't you** Sherlock!" John spat out sarcastically.

_John's fear, and anger, were like bullets in a gun. Fired, they found and pierced their target_.

John closed his eyes. His hands were crossed around his chest protectively. He knew immediately he had gone too far, but he was worried, and damn the man was stubborn.

"Dear God Sherlock, I'm so, so, sorry." John whispered an apology.

"Get out," Sherlock whispered, but John still heard it.


	40. Chapter 39

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 39

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

**_"Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall." _****Confucius**

* * *

><p><em>Present Day<em>

"Get out," Sherlock whispered.

"**Get out**," Louder now.

**"I... Said… Get… Out!"** Sherlock didn't mean it, but was losing control and did not know what else to say or do.

Sherlock had moved into John's personal space, hands by his side shaking lightly.

"I'm not going anywhere Sherlock; I thought you would have figured that out by now." John said quietly.

John waited for Sherlock to hit him. He thought he deserved it.

"FINE, then I'll leave." Sherlock grabbed his coat pulling it on with one smooth movement. He grunted from the pain. Sherlock ran down the stairs so fast that he nearly stumbled.

**"WAIT,"** John shouted, near panic as he heard the door slam.

John grabbed his coat to follow, not bothering to put it on. John ran down the stairs, and then froze with one hand on the handle. The fingers of his other hand dry combed his hair.

_(Follow him… don't follow… you'll make it worse… It's dangerous for him to be alone.) _

These thoughts slammed against the walls of John's mind until he was dizzy.

John cursed.

Suddenly he ran upstairs tripping over a few steps.

John frantically dialed a number, "Pick up, pick up, pick the bloody hell up!"

"John," Mycroft's answered, his voice showing concern.

John did not hesitate.

"Mycroft, I made a mistake."


	41. Chapter 40

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 40

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite. LoL<p>

"**_I picked up a beautiful red rose. It pricked my finger. Suddenly I realized _**

**_it's deception. It drew me to it with its beauty. I never noticed the_**

**_danger."~ _****Freeman**

* * *

><p><em>Present Day<em>

He observed Holmes and noticed that he was alone. That surprised the soldier. It also surprised the soldier that Holmes was on foot. The soldier had to hurriedly get out of his car and follow at a distance. Holmes rushed out of the building nearly tripping. Even injured, Holmes was deceptively quick on his feet.

Only one security detail was following him. So, thought the soldier, this was unplanned. The government agent seemed just as surprise as the soldier was that Holmes left the flat.

The agent had to jog a little to bring himself close enough to not lose Holmes. The soldier did not like surprises, and this was definitely a surprise. The streets were not as crowded now. He would have to be more careful of detection.

The soldier noticed that Holmes seemed unfocused. Usually, he had to be particularly cautious. Holmes was very alert normally and seemed to notice the slightest movement.

The soldier also had to watch the smaller man, Watson. Watson, the soldier concluded, was Holmes guard.

Watson, like Holmes, was also vigilant. He also, in addition, had a dangerous look, as if he would shoot anyone without a thought who threatened Holmes. He was surprised not to see the blond haired smaller man. Watson annoyingly never left the Consultant Detective's side.

The soldier smiled to himself, maybe this was an agreeable surprise after all.

As he followed at a distance, the soldier realized that Holmes was not only unfocused, he was not even paying attention to his surroundings. He just seemed to be driven.

The soldier knew that this was the opportunity that he had been waiting for. The boss wanted Sherlock alive. Something about information and wanting to hear him finally scream as he personally took Holmes' life.

The soldier shrugged as he threw the cigarette butt to the ground. Personally, the soldier would have liked two bullets to the abdomen. It was a very painful death.

It would amuse the soldier how they would thrash about screaming from the pain.

He supposed he could be merciful and shoot him painlessly in the head, two bullets. From what he had heard, the man had suffered enough. But, that was not his choice; he did as he was told.

He picked up his pace and cursed, how can Holmes possibly be so quick. It was good that he lifted weights and kept himself in good condition. The soldier took pride in the fact that his body was all muscle.

He almost crashed into a pedestrian as he suddenly slowed down. He nodded an apology to the startled women as he slowed more. Holmes seemed to come to himself. He looked around as if just now realizing where he was. He slowed more and walked into the park.

The park… close to dark… Holmes distracted… perfect. The soldier smiled as he caught his breath.

Kill the agent; quietly abduct Holmes at gunpoint, shoot him nonlethal if necessary.

The boss did not say he had to be uninjured.

This was going to be easy.

He pulled out another cigarette and struck a match. Orange pinpricks of light decorated the cigarette under the flame. The soldier blissfully inhaled the nicotine then exhaled slowly causing ribbons of swirling smoke to disperse in the air.

The soldier waited for the right moment.


	42. Chapter 41

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 41

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

**_"We are not only our brother's keeper; in countless large and small ways, we are our brother's maker." _****Bonaro Overstreet**

* * *

><p><em>Present Day<em>

Sherlock found himself sitting on a bench in Regents Park, looking at the overcast skies, slightly numb. Images sounds and smells flashed in front of Sherlock's eyes, he heard crying again.

Sherlock gasped loudly.

So, it was coming while he was awake now. Sherlock could audibly still faintly hear the crying.

A mother walking a young child looked at Sherlock before walking by. She gave a strained smile and looked concerned but kept walking. He swallowed embarrassed, looking away.

Sherlock did not bother to look when he heard a car pull up, and heavy steps approaching. Mycroft dusted the seat next to him and after a slight hesitation sat down.

"Why did you leave?" Mycroft asked after a moment.

After another moment Sherlock spoke_._

"I felt like I was suffocating." Sherlock felt a wave of fear and pain run through him.

"It's not over," Sherlock stated as a matter of fact.

"Ayyad," Mycroft knew the answer.

"He'll come for me soon," Sherlock smirk, "I think I'm getting annoying again, he must know that locating his cells is somehow tied to my… release."

"Yes, I know," Mycroft said, Sherlock thought he heard Mycroft swallow hard.

"You were right about Ayyad's general Ahmed Ajaj." Mycroft attempted to change the subject. "We locate Ajaj, he was in a city in Bavaria Germany. My agents directed the German government to the locations of the bombing materials. They were hidden in a city in Baden-Württemberg. This was done in exchange for them agreeing to release him to our custody." Mycroft turned slightly to look Sherlock in the face.

"I should tell you also that they recovered Mrs. Müller, unharmed, both she and the baby thanks to you," Mycroft had a faint smile.

"I would say some sentimental dribble about how proud I am of you; but that massive ego of yours is quite full I'm sure, and has no room for a compliment."

Sherlock chuckled, relaxing slightly. The familiar banter between himself and Mycroft made him feel normal, safe.

* * *

><p><em>Five Minutes Earlier<em>

The soldier walked up to the agent with his gun drawn and silencer on. The newspaper hid the gun. The agent was in the perfect position now. He was distracted by the large crowd coming toward Holmes who seemed to be staring into space.

The soldier curse silently and kept walking. Several bystanders seem to materialize out of nowhere and a dangerous looking man with an umbrella was walking toward Holmes.

He was so close.

He cursed to himself, but never slowed his pace not wanting to draw attention to himself.

The soldier normally liked to work alone, but he now knew that he would have to rethink his plan.


	43. Chapter 42

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 42

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite. LoL (Lots of Love)<p>

**_"We are not only our brother's keeper; in countless large and small ways, we are our brother's maker." _****Bonaro Overstreet**

* * *

><p><em>Present Day<em>

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mycroft continued.

"Ajaj is being taken into custody as we speak. We are trying to _persuade_ him to cooperate and tell us where his superior, Nidal Ayyad is currently located."

"Edward Green the younger?" Sherlock asked.

"Gone, when we reached the hotel we found an abandoned room. Green left in a hurry. He was using an alias, of course. It's almost as if he knew we were coming," Mycroft said.

Mycroft smile shifted. Mycroft still had a smile, but this smile was the one that men trembled under.

"Could Mrs. Green have alerted him?" Sherlock already knew the answer was no.

"We took her immediately into protective custody as you suggested," Mycroft answered.

"Leak." Both the Holmes brothers said at the same time.

They looked at each other surprised then returned their gaze straight ahead again.

"Soooo… you thought you would discuss matters of national security in a park with me," Sherlock smiled a little at the thought.

A moment of silence passed.

"How is John?" Sherlock asked suddenly, his smile dropping.

"Worried about you," Mycroft responded.

It was Sherlock's turn to change the subject.

"Really Mycroft, it's a wonder England have not been overthrown." Sherlock's eyes glanced in the direction of a tall man in a black suit, and white shirt. Casually walking at a distance.

"Oh… Thomas. Actually, as you know, he is quite good. I wanted you to see him. In your present state of mind, you might have broken his nose or shot him with his own gun. Getting blood out of a suit is a nightmare," Mycroft said flatly.

Holding on to his ribs Sherlock chuckled at Mycroft's rare display of wit.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow then smiled.

A comfortable silence passed.

"You need to allow me to put you in protective custody, Sherlock," Mycroft looked at his umbrella from tip to handle as he raised it. Suddenly, he seemed fascinated with it.

"No," was Sherlock's simple reply.

"I could force you." Mycroft pushed the umbrella to the concrete, looking very uncomfortably at the ground.

Sherlock sighed looking Mycroft in the eyes, "Don't you think I've been forced enough?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. He knew Sherlock was trying to get him to change the direction of the conversation by making him uncomfortable. He would allow Sherlock this victory, for the moment at least.

Sherlock looked almost disappointed that Mycroft let him get away with the manipulation, John wouldn't have.

Mycroft spoke, "Sherlock you cannot save the world, nor are you responsible for the bombings. You've stopped four planes and one building from exploding, in fact. You cannot right all wrongs committed by troubled and wicked men."

Mycroft continued.

"You're still a little boy trying to right all things terrible, to save everyone… to save her," Mycroft finished quietly.

"Someone had to," Sherlock never regretted speaking his mind, until now.

"Mycroft I…," Sherlock stated but Mycroft held up a hand to stop him. Mycroft sighed then spoke.

"It's not that I didn't try Sherlock; I suppose I found it hard not to be the obedient son. I know father was… harsh at times… but, I admired his … accomplishments." Mycroft said slowly searching for the words.

"You mean you loved him Mycroft, I suppose it is considered normal for a son to love his father. Mycroft, try not to choke on the word _love_ if you should ever have the need to say it, will you."

Sherlock added immediately.

"I hated him." They both knew Sherlock, did not mean it.

Mycroft lip formed a tight line. Mycroft sighed then said, "You… loved him too Sherlock, that is why his behavior hurt so much," Mycroft dared Sherlock to deny his words.

"I found it hard not to be obstinate." Sherlock countered.

"Maybe if you were more… diplomatic, played along… waited for the right time…."

"We both know diplomacy and timing are not one of my strong suits. It's not in my nature to just sit by, and let _things_ happen." Sherlock said.

"I know I was seven years your elder, I did try to guard you both, I'm sorry." Mycroft opened his mouth to say something else then closed it. Mycroft looked almost… lost.

"You were so young," the truth of Sherlock's own word soaked into his heart as he said them.

"You were just a child," Mycroft said.

"We both were I suppose," Mycroft added looking back at Sherlock.

"I did try to protect you, you're my little brother," Mycroft whispered roughly.

"You did at times." Sherlock looked at his brother.

"And failed many more times," Mycroft said and smiled sadly.

"Yes," Sherlock returned the sad smile.

The sun was about to set.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock from head to toe and made a quick deduction. From what he observed and what John described to him. He believed he knew what was wrong. It happened once before when Sherlock was a child, a year after he first created his mind palace. But it was never this severe.

"Something is wrong with your mind palace," Mycroft stated.

Sherlock said nothing but looked at his brother with a pained expression.

"I see, "Mycroft said while thinking, "It is time we move, it's getting dark, I'll feel more comfortable in your flat."

Mycroft barely nodded and several people in the park scattered.

"All for me?" Sherlock smiled.

"Only the best dear brother." Mycroft said but his face took on a serious expression as he seemed to scan for threats and potential danger. Sherlock looked as well.

As Mycroft walked Sherlock to the curb, a taxicab appeared.

"Not your usual black on black, impressive." Sherlock entered the cab. Once entered, Sherlock melted into the seat. He began to think of how best to apologize to John.

His brother was talking to Anthea, not her real name Sherlock realized long ago, and two other men. Sherlock recognized one as Thomas the agent stationed outside his flat, the other was unfamiliar.

He sent his limousine away with Anthea in it. Two other cars Sherlock had not noticed drove off.

Mycroft got in the cab next to Sherlock.

"Mind if I join you Sherlock?" Sherlock knew Mycroft enough to know it was not a question.


	44. Chapter 43

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 43

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

**_"Adversity is the first path to truth."_~**Lord Byron

* * *

><p>Mycroft nodded at the taxi driver, one of his men of course. He immediately started driving.<p>

Mycroft looked out the window then spoke, "Sherlock, if there was any other way…" he turned to look at Sherlock now.

Sherlock was looking at Mycroft but said nothing.

"I know you don't like to … talk about… your… time away. Nevertheless, tonight I need you to tell me everything Sherlock, leave nothing out. First, you will need to restore the memories fully. I am sorry Sherlock you do know why." Mycroft apologized.

Sherlock looked out the opposite window and nodded wordlessly. Sherlock let one fist lean against his mouth and after a few minutes, he turned to look at Mycroft and asked. "Will you be there… will you stay with…," The younger Holmes could not finish his sentence, and seemed slightly embarrassed by what he perceived to be a show of weakness.

"Of course," Mycroft said as he looked at Sherlock, he really was not looking that good.

Concern crept into Mycroft's belly. He pushed it back down. It had to be done, and that was that.

"You need data," Mycroft stated suddenly all business. "Have John told you of the events that led to him finding you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said weakly.

"Well let me tell you my part and what I knew about Ayyad in the weeks before you were … detained. Then I prefer that you not enter the mind palace again until we get back to your flat."

Sherlock listened as his brother told him everything he knew of Ayyad, and of the weeks leading up to the abduction. Mycroft held nothing back, including how the events affected him personally. He knew that Sherlock's mind ran on pure data.

He would help him in any way he could to prepare, so that at the end of the night, his brother would emerge with that beautiful mind still intact.


	45. Chapter 44

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 44

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite. LoL<p>

* * *

><p><strong><em>Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved<em>****.** ~ Helen Keller

* * *

><p>Sherlock prepared himself.<p>

Mycroft explained to John quietly as Sherlock lay on the couch. "Sherlock has unique abilities and gifts. He can almost instantly connect the three realms of the mind at will…"

Sherlock's eyes rolled beneath his lids as he made short synchronized movements with his hands.

"… Think of it as three rooms connected by three doors," Mycroft continued quietly. "The first room is the conscious; it is the place where we are all aware of what is happening here, and now."

"The second room is the preconscious; it is the place where we can go to retrieve a memory. Something we do not think about all the time, but need to think about now."

"The last room is always locked and cannot be accessed; this last room is the unconscious. It influences the other two rooms but cannot be directly accessed by most people," Mycroft explained.

"Sherlock's mind is a key in a way. Sherlock has the ability to not only freely walk between all rooms, but he can rearrange items in the rooms, and throw away any item he considers useless."

"Sherlock is quite brilliant without the palace of course. Mummy had him tested; as a young child, he was placed off the charts. His mind naturally collects more information in one hour than most people do in one week. The palace simply helps him to organize, and store that information, and decide what to keep and what to delete."

"There are only five people recorded to have similar abilities."

"One died a year ago."

"One is in Russia; we monitor her closely, of course."

"One is I, although in this aspect my brother surpasses even me. Sherlock gift is in connecting the dots, seeing patterns. My gift is in moving and manipulating the dots." Mycroft looked grim.

"He has surpassed all of us in that he has taught himself how to do this with not only simple pieces of information, but also memories."

"Who is the fifth," John asked

"The fifth was an orphan of French immigrants, Josiah Lambert. You know him as Jim Moriarty," Mycroft answered.

John glanced at Sherlock and took in a deep lungful of air before continuing, "What happens if he cannot … _repair _the damage done?"

Mycroft swallowed, "Then the door closes with him trapped in his unconscious, permanently. You told me he was unresponsive for fifteen minutes earlier, it would become permanent. A self induced coma John."

"What do you mean permanently, an unending catatonic state?" John as a doctor knew what that meant; and he was not going to allow it!

John whispered with anger as he invaded Mycroft's permanent space. "I don't care what information the flipping government needs, I won't allow Sherlock to go through with this, I'm not risking him becoming some… vegetable in some hospital somewhere."

"John," Mycroft said with raised hands, "I don't think you understand; you're already losing him John, we both are. Sherlock created his world, his palace when he was younger down to the last detail. Every room. It is his world. However, every world has rules and his is no different. Sherlock has broken one of his own rules…"

Mycroft had to take a breath before continuing

"His mind is giving him warnings. He has deleted a memory that has some information some detail that he needs to restore. A small part of him realizes this. That is why he sees bits and pieces in the form of nightmares and flashbacks, but never a complete picture. Never a complete memory. The walls of his mind are shaking, soon they will collapse."

John asked Mycroft. "How long should this take?" A numb feeling had replaced the anger.

"An hour, but you have to understand, his mind has surpassed all researched material that is available," Mycroft answered.

"And…, if it is longer than an hour," John looked at Mycroft. Mycroft did not answer but looked grim.

John's face drained of color. He felt bile rise.

Sherlock opened his eyes blinked a few times and looked around. He looked at Mycroft and John. Sherlock looked both men up and down, and frowned. Sherlock, however, quickly covered the frown.

Mycroft studied his brother for a few seconds. "Ready Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded closed his eyes and put his hands folded on his lap. He was fully dressed except he had taken off his suit jacket and shoes.

Both John and Mycroft sat opposite each other, but facing Sherlock on the sofa. They sat in the dining room chairs they had pulled up.

"What's your fail-safe," Mycroft asked Sherlock while pulling out his pocket watch.

Sherlock shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "Your voice."

"I see," Mycroft said as he cleared his throat.

John was confused, but too numb to ask any questions. John did not understand what a fail-safe was. In reality, it could have been anything, a place, an icon, music. Sherlock had chosen his brother's voice.

If the worse occurred and Sherlock was trapped in the third room, his unconsciousness; the fail-safe, which was his brother's voice, could be the guide to his return to reality, theoretically. John did not understand, and did not ask, already lost in his own misery.

Sherlock took a breath while opening his eyes. He turned toward his brother and spoke.

"If something should occur; please convey something sentimental to Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and…" Sherlock did not finish but looked at Mycroft.

Mycroft thought for a moment, and then suddenly he knew.

"I see," Mycroft's suspicions were confirmed. So, she was alive after all.

"How will I contact her," Mycroft asked.

"She'll contact you," Sherlock said with a smirk. "In that event, I need for you to give her all the assistance she may require." Sherlock's face held a strange look now. Mycroft, noticed with some surprise.

"Oh, I see." Mycroft said again.

Sherlock then looked at John; faithful, loyal, John; and he … felt _something._ Sherlock struggled to identify the emotion. He accepted the fact that he cared for John, for all his… friends. However, this was something deeper. What was the sentiment?

Love?

Sherlock realized he did love John. He considered him as much a brother as Mycroft. He would never say this of course. John would understand. John knew, but maybe he should try to tell him. Sherlock began.

"John… um, I probably should say… I mean I **want** to say…"

"**Stop** **Sherlock**, just stop it. Whatever you have to tell me, you had better bloody well tell me yourself, in an hour." Then John, who never put on a mask in front of Sherlock, put one on now. He wore the same mask he wore as a soldier in Afghanistan.

The one that said he was calm and detached.

The one he wore when he had too many soldiers dying, and had to choose which one to save.

The one that said he was calm and professional, when the truth was, inside his heart was being torn apart.

Sherlock took one last look at his brother, and his eyes lingered on John for a moment.

Sherlock nodded.

**_Sometimes words were not necessary, other times, words were not enough. _**

A slight shudder ran through his body. Sherlock took a breath and closed his eyes.

Mycroft spoke quietly in a steady rhythm. After a minute, Sherlock's eyes rolled under closed lids. Barely noticeable, synchronized hand movements were taking place. _And, Sherlock was gone._


	46. Chapter 45

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 45

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

**_Men are not prisoners of fate, but prisoners of their own minds._** ~Franklin D. Roosevelt

* * *

><p>Sherlock walked up the marble stairs of his palace. The gentle tap-tap-tap of his shoes on the marbled floors was heard.<p>

Another sound was heard, it was the relaxing chords of violin music, which always played in this place.

He heard something else. Mycroft's voice; steady, rhythmic. His brother's voice became a soft thin thread that wrapped around his subconscious. It was a tether of some kind he realized, to the waking world.

The palace itself had an atmosphere that was light and airy, as well as peaceful. It was very spacious with three floors of room and a lower level that he never visited.

Well, once.

His palace was constructed with long marble laid corridors. There were various Oak doors, beautiful and ornate in design with cream-colored trim. Each door looked unique, as each room was unique.

Each room was elegantly and distinctively decorated.

The rooms themselves were not important, what was, was the **bookcases **in each room. Each contained a massive amount of books.

Sherlock came to a door.

He moved his hands in short synchronized movements, the door opened on his own accord, as if moved by an invisible hand.

Sherlock was in a hurry. He walked into the first room. He ignored the beautiful mahogany furniture and bookcases that seemed to line the walls of this room, not unlike all the other rooms.

He stepped to a door and moved his hands in short synchronized movements. It also opened on its own accord.

He went into the second room.

This second room was more modern in design, but similarly had wall to ceiling bookcases. Again, Sherlock ignored everything and stepped quickly to the third and final door.

He moved his hands in short synchronized movements but this door did not open like the rest. Sherlock frowned then remembered. He concentrated and a silver key materialized in his hand. He opened the door.

He guardedly stepped into the last room.

It was an ecliptic mixing of modern and traditional style furniture.

This room had bookstands as well, but all the books here were beautifully ornate in design and had dark brown leather covers and antique looking pages.

Sherlock was always more cautious in this room. He looked at the winding staircase at the far left corner. Sherlock put his hands in his pocket, and sighed. He could not delay anymore.

Sherlock had not visited the lower level except once when he was a child, a year after this place was constructed.

The lower level was different from the rest of the house.

It was dark with shadows that moved.

It had a steep stairs. Walking down the stairs gave the feeling of slowly descending into the abyss. Sherlock moved cautiously down the stairs touching his hands to the rails only.

Sherlock thought he heard something.

Sherlock froze.

His heart hammered in his chest. After a moment of hearing nothing else, Sherlock resumed moving slowly down the staircase.

It became darker with descent, and the voice of his brother was getting harder to distinguish.

Sherlock's foot hit dirt.

The atmosphere of the place seemed almost to absorb the sunlight. Sherlock held on to the walls and felt his way along.

There were only three doors down there. Behind one door, he heard a child crying and a man screaming in a rage. The unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh could be heard.

The second door was the sound of someone gasping for breath, struggling to breathe.

The last door was where Sherlock knew he had to be. A soft sound came from the door. He recognized it. This was the place.

He moved his hand in short synchronized movements, but unlike the rest of the palace. Nothing happened.

Surprised, Sherlock tried again.

Nothing.

Sherlock looked at his wrist. The thin string was still attached. He manually put his hand on the door and turned while simultaneously pushing with his full body weight.

The heavy door creaked open.

This room was not like the rest.

It was dirty and dim.

The furniture was in disrepair. There were no windows only a very dim lamp in the corner. It did however, have the floor to ceiling bookcase with books, like all the other rooms.

Sherlock squint in the dark, he looked at the bookcase and found what he was looking for. It was the most recent book that he relocated to this room.

Sherlock opened the book of memories and holding one hand above the pages, tried turning the pages.

Nothing happened.

He had to try twice, but on his second try the book pages moved, slowly at first, but then they flipped at a dizzying speed as if moved by some invisible hand.

Sherlock, with much concentration, sent the book back to the room upstairs where it belonged.

Sherlock turned to leave. He touched the doorknob, but it would not turn. He put both hands on the knob now and put all his strength into it.

Suddenly, the only light in the room; the dim light in the corner started to flash on and off. The walls started to shake.

Startled, Sherlock retreated to the middle of the room.

That is when Sherlock saw him, there, just beyond the light in the shadows.

Fear hovered over Sherlock.

Suddenly, the room melted away.

His suit coat torn and fell to the ground.

His shirt and pants became dirty and tattered.

He groaned as his body started to feel weak and pain filled his senses. He found himself in a cement room with one window and only a dirty mattress on the floor as furniture.

Sherlock recognized the place. He was back in the warehouse where he was kept during his abduction. He was again a prisoner.

Terror filled him and his body shook, because now he remembered it all.

In his mind and body, he relived every moment.

He could no longer hear his brother's voice. He never noticed the thread break.


	47. Chapter 46

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 46

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

"**_Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp _****_them by the _****_blade or the handle."_**

_James Russell Lowell,_ "CambridgeThirty Years Ago," _Literary__Essays_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Mycroft had gotten several anonymous tips within the past three weeks. Ayyad was said to be planning an attack on British soil. Most thought him dead but his own sources as well as anonymous leads had led him to believe that the announcement of Ayyad death was premature.

Some of Ayyad men were being taken into custody as Mycroft spoke. A cyanide canister and enough explosives to blow up a building were recovered.

There were several other cells he had to deal with but a significant blow had been dealt. Mycroft was under no illusion. He suspected this was tied to the late Moriarty. The man was annoying even beyond the grave.

Mycroft walked to the window in his office, hands in pocket and thought. There were several unexplained events that led to multiple arrests, the suspicious deaths of key criminals, and the prevention of several terrorist activities in several countries, including England.

It always amazed him how ignorant the public could be about how fragile their lives were. Mycroft realized that he was fortunate to have gotten the anonymous information.

What he did not realize was that Sherlock was responsible for the information that led to the capture and arrest of several significant terrorist cells. In London and several cities across the world, people went about their business of living.

In one city a family went walking. In another city, a couple was arguing; still another city, some teenagers were laughing. They went about their normal lives unaware that death's hand had almost touched them or touched someone they loved.

Mycroft sighed heavily. He stared out the window but saw nothing. He was lost in his own memories.

His thoughts turned to what it did everyday around this time. His thoughts turn to Sherlock.

What he did not know was that Sherlock was alive and that life was tentative. Sherlock was tethered between life and death, and his tentative hold on life was slipping.


	48. Chapter 47

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 47

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

**WARNING:** **Some** of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, Please skip or read chapters marked as non-graphic this is still rated T. If alternate chapters are offered, it will be marked clearly. For example alternate chapter 6 will be marked **NON-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 6. **These alternate chapters give the information in a more non-graphic way, but still T rated way. As always, thank for reading favorite, and comments.

****Rating temporarily T****

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut <em>****_us, as we grasp _****_them by the_****_ blade or the handle."_**

_James Russell Lowell,_ "Cambridge Thirty Years Ago,"Literary Essays

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Sherlock was doing general surveillance when captured. In the end, it was an ordinary a human thing that was his downfall, fatigue.

How dull.

With the exception of a two-hour nap, Sherlock had not slept in fifty-two hours. Sherlock was used to going without food and sleep for extended periods of time, but the last several months have been exceptionally hard physically and emotionally. He had made a very human mistake. He cursed himself now.

It was going to get bad he suspected, very bad.

The room he was in was clad in darkness and smelled slightly odd; like dirt and mold, mixed with oil and metal. The darkness was broken by a single stream of light coming from a thin but long window positioned three feet, (one meter,) about Sherlock's head when standing.

When he was first brought here, he had leapt one foot pushing on the wall for momentum, gripped the edge of the window ledge and pulled himself up. He was weaker now. If he exerted himself, he supposed he could do it again. He saw no point. He got the information, the data he needed.

He needed to save his energy for important things. Besides, the windows were barred.

His room contained another tinier adjoining room. It contained a toilet and sink. He found the water was not working. Not bad as kidnappings go, not at first.

He was in an abandoned warehouse that was surrounded by several other abandoned warehouses. He was close to where he was doing surveillance when captured. He deduced that he was close to water, the Thames.

There was no possibility of someone walking by, noticing movement, or hearing a scream, he realized.

He looked at the locked door wishing Mycroft would come bursting through it.

If he did, Sherlock had promised himself not to deliver another sarcastic remark to him ever again.

Well, at least for a month.

Sherlock now wished someone knew where he was. Most everyone thought he was dead. He most likely would be soon enough.

John would not worry yet; he knew that Sherlock would disappear for up to a week or so at a time, coming back to rest then disappear again before morning. Sherlock insisted, for John's own safety, that he not reveal Sherlock's reappearance to anyone.

Irene Adler did know what his plans were, and was even helping him with several leads since she had intimate knowledge of Moriarty's dealings. She had also provided vital information that Sherlock had manipulated for his own purposes. Therefore, it was vital that she was presumed dead. Adler was resourceful, intellectually superior, and had proved herself in the last several months both a valuable ally and trustworthy.

A power play was taking place within Moriarty's organization. With several key officers grappling for the power. A few anonymous calls to and from their supposed competition, a few random untraceable texts, and guns were flying. Bodies were turning up.

Moriarty's kingdom was not falling apart. It had torn itself apart from within. Sherlock unbeknown to them all, was the one who had pulled the strings. No one suspected his involvement, at least not until now.

He had limited his contact with Irene Adler since coming back to England for her safety. Therefore, lack of contact would not alarm her for several days. Irene would start to wonder; but it would take several more days for her to worry. And, still several more for her to be worried enough to disregard his instructions and contact Mycroft revealing both herself and him.

Sherlock had come to terms with the fact that he was very much on his own.


	49. Chapter 48

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 48

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

**WARNING:** **Some** of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, Please skip or read chapters marked as non-graphic this is still rated T. If alternate chapters are offered, it will be marked clearly. For example alternate chapter 6 will be marked **NON-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 6. **These alternate chapters give the information in a more non-graphic way, but still T rated way. As always, thank for reading favorite, and comments.

* * *

><p><strong>**Rating temporarily T**<strong>

"**_Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle. _**

_James Russell Lowell**,**_ "Cambridge Thirty Years Ago,"_Literary Essays_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

It was almost like holiday… at first.

There was a little roughing up, a slap or two, and an occasional threat. They had even been _kind_ enough to give Sherlock small amounts of food and bottled water. He maneuvered his handcuffed hands to the bottle picking it up, and bringing it to his lips.

Sherlock winced as he drank the water avoiding the side of his lips that was split and bleeding. He drank as if the water was liquid gold; every drop was precious to him.

He reluctantly stopped before his thirst was satisfied and hid two half-drunken bottles under the dirty mattress on the floor. Earlier he had forced half the sandwich down his throat feeling like it would come back up at any moment.

Every morning they came asking the same questions, he always politely declined to answer. Whenever his… **sessions…** were over, they would redeposit him back in the locked space. He would crawl back to the mattress, and go to his mind.

He would spend hours storing and deleting information. Organizing and storing data. Every overheard conversation, word, inflection of voice, name, and date was stored.

Sherlock was beaten until unconscious once. When he regained consciousness, he had stored entire conversations spoken without restraint since they believed him to be still unconscious.

It would come in useful when he escaped, if he escaped.

Sherlock vaguely wondered when his life had become so dangerous that the events of the past week had been tolerable.

He heard footsteps approaching. Two voices talking. One was the voice of his usual guard; the other was new and spoke with authority. There was an odd inflection in the new voice that cause Sherlock to pay closer attention. He recognized the voice.

The floodlights suddenly came on.

"_Odpověděl na otázky_?" The voice in the shadow asked.

_"Ne, pane." _The guard replied.

**Sherlock translated the conversation in his mind.**

_Did he answer the questions?_

_No sir._

Sherlock spoke several languages well enough and French quite well. He did not think it wise to divulge this little piece of information.

The voice spoke in Czech with a thick Arabic accent. There was something more, Czech undertone.

So, he spent a considerable amount of time there in the Czech Republic, and still does. He could tell at some point he had a university education. He was intelligent and came from money but nothing legitimate. He had taken over the family business at a young age. He spoke and walked with authority.

This was a man used to being obeyed.

From Sherlock's surveillance, he had come to the belief that before him stood Ayyad. Third on Interpol most wanted list until he was believed to be killed around the same time as Moriarty.

It seems it was a day for dead men to walk.

He was captured as he gathered the last bit of data and pictures that would have proved his hypothesis.

What sent a chill through Sherlock was the certain knowledge that Ayyad would not risk coming to England, unless something so big was in play that he would risk the details to no one but himself.

Mycroft needed this information.

Ayyad was unaware that Sherlock knew his identity. Ayyad was careful to stay in the shadows.

"Hello, awake are we, did you sleep well?" He spoke English very well despite the thick accent.

Sherlock blinked away the sweat and blood that was stinging his eyes. "Quite well, although your accommodations leave something to be desired; thank you."

He knew now was not the time to be a smart arse, but that never stopped him before.

"Funny, aren't you," the voice moved slightly outside the glare of the light contrast by heavy darkness. "Let's see what we can do to remedy that."

In walked his guard Novák, otherwise know to Sherlock as "Mr. Stupid" as he had come to name him.

He was tall and solidly built with a deep tan. He wore a no sleeve tank that showed his grotesquely large and muscular arms. Probably for intimidation Sherlock decided. His left arm sported an old scar that ran from elbow to wrist.

That is not what gave Sherlock pause; it was the look in his eyes; blood lust and pure evil.

The others he had encountered during his **stay **had been ruthless yet professional; this one was in it for pleasure not money. He loved to intimidate, control, inflict pain and kill… slowly. This gave him delight, pleasure.

Sherlock was sure Novák had killed small animals as a child.

Obviously, he was hired for muscles not brain. Novák was their weakness, maybe he could exploit him, but Sherlock also knew if he died, it would most likely be by Novák's hand.

Novák walked slightly stiff, wearily eyeing Sherlock, but his limp was almost gone. Novák had learned the hard way that Sherlock was not one to be taken down without a fight. Sherlock learned that Novák knew how to hold a grudge.

It was a dangerous game he was being forced to play, but he had no choice. He sensed that Novak blood lust was growing, The "Voice" did not know it yet, but he was losing control of Novák.

Novák stepped forward and smiled. The first explosion of pain in his abdomen did not surprise him. What did surprise him was that Novák did not hit him in the head again except the periodic slap.

Three days earlier, Novák, had hit him in the head with the back of his gun, Novák beat Sherlock into unconsciousness, and had given him a nasty concussion. Sherlock went in and out of unconsciousness for hours.

When he had awoken, his body was painted with bruises and he almost felt as if his head was split in two. Sherlock somehow had managed, with great difficulty, to stifle a moan. He bit his tongue so hard that he drew blood, all to keep any sound from escaping. He also kept his eyes closed. Both to prevent detection and fight back the nausea.

Sherlock had heard Novák being reprimanded. They obviously wanted him alert and awake; torture was so much more effective when the victim was awake Sherlock thought grimly.

Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts and back to the present when the voice spoke.

"Our organization has been torn apart; many people have been killed and assassinated, trying to find the leak. So you do understand, I cannot allow you to spoil the plans that would breathe new life into our little organization."

"With you as the new head, of course," Sherlock said.

"Of course… Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock's blood ran cold as he realized they had said his name for the first time. Moreover, if they knew his name he had just lost the upper hand. He had to regain it.

"Have you worked out who it is that wants you dead yet… Mr. Ayyad?"

"Well, no need for pretense then," Ayyad stepped from the shadow, revealing himself for the first time.

"None." Sherlock agreed.


	50. Chapter 49

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 49

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

I love reading your comments, please keep them coming.

* * *

><p><strong>WARNING:<strong> Some of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, Please skip or read chapters marked as non-graphic this is still rated T. If alternate chapters are offered, it will be marked clearly. For example alternate chapter 6 will be marked **LESS-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 6. **These alternate chapters give the information in a more non-graphic way, but still T rated way. As always, thank for reading favorite, and comments.

****Rating temporarily T****

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>Fortune knocks but once, but misfortune has much more patience<em>**."

~Author Unknown

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Ayyad was a tall, well-built man in his late forties, with a receding hairline, and a love for all things expensive. It showed in the dark black suit he wore, and polished black leather shoes.

He had a regal heir.

His brown eyes however, revealed his soul. A soul that was cold, calculating, and treacherous.

"Tell me," Ayyad spoke as he moved closer, "who is helping you?"

Sherlock stiffen, but he did not answer.

Ayyad misread his body language as fear. In reality, he did not want to give anything away.

There had been Molly, but he had limited his contact with her after faking his suicide. He was careful to leave her flat within a week, when arrangements were made. He did not want anything to lead back to her.

Molly was special to him in a way that Sherlock was not yet able or willing to process. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself, or forgive anyone who harmed her.

Then there was Irene Adler, the women who had provided him with shelter. The only woman he had ever considered his equal intellectually, or moved him. Sherlock had helped Adler on several occasions, since he helped her to officially _disappear_. She had returned the favor.

They had grown close over the last year. She was fascinating. She stirred something inside of him like no one else had. Though they had never had dinner, Sherlock had been close to having lunch, but something always stopped him. Perhaps he did not completely trust her, at least not with his heart.

His mind kept wondering unbidden back to Molly, he briefly wondered why. Sherlock reasoned that he must be concerned for her safety. They were friends after all, were they not?

Ayyad's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Come now, we are friends, we thought you worked alone, but someone sent information to your government about one of our little _operations _yesterday. Come, who was it?" Ayyad's voice sounded like a snake hissing.

Again, Sherlock said nothing, but stared defiantly straight ahead.

Sherlock realized then, that they were speaking of Irene Adler. He felt relief. Ayyad's admission told Sherlock three things: Adler had received his message, decrypted, and interpreted the information; and had passed it on to Mycroft anonymously. She was alive and unharmed. Finally, she was aware of a threat to them both. Adler could take care of herself.

"I have a friend, maybe it is just me you don't like, let's see if your tongue loosens?" They left then, without another word. Novák smiled.

Nothing happened the next day. For the first time, no one even came into his room. Sherlock heard movement. There were not as many footsteps now.

Sherlock gathered that most of the people there had been moved to another location. Only a few men remained behind. Sherlock gathered that they were planning to totally abandon the warehouse soon, and did not plan to take him with them. He was only alive because they still needed further information.

Sherlock, although hating to admit it, became a little unnerved. Every time he heard footsteps, he prepared himself then the footsteps would pass.

Sherlock would cope by organizing information in his mind, categorizing data, and plotting possible escapes. When boredom set in, he recited the periodic table by atomic number in French, backwards.

Sherlock did anything and everything to stop thinking of how many effective ways there were to torture a person, and break the mind. He forced himself to rest, drink, and eat best he could, while pushing back the bile he felt rising.

To survive he needed to be as physically strong as possible; present circumstances considered. Sherlock dragged his sore body to the mattress and closed his eyes.

Holiday was definitely over.


	51. GRAPHIC CHAPTER 50

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 50 **More-Graphic**

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em><strong>***Author note<strong>_**: I both was asked, and felt that it was necessary to explore what Sherlock went through during his abduction. This is that attempt. *****

For this chapter there is a less intense version available click on the next chapter marked Less-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 50.

**Thanks for commenting it lets me know how I am doing.**

**WARNING:** **Some **of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, Please skip or click on the next chapter for a T rated version.

**Alternate chapter 50 available**

******For a less graphic chapter 50, skip this chapter and click on the alternate chapter marked, LESS-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 50**. This chapter offer similar information in a less-graphic way. Remember it will still be a T rated, and Sherlock is still in captivity.

Choose which version of the chapter is best for you. Thank and LoL.

****Rating temporarily M****

* * *

><p><em><strong>If you're going through hell, keep going<strong>_. ~Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><em><strong>Deleted Memories of Abduction<strong>_

The next day, he heard heavy steps approaching. There was urgency to their steps. Something was different. Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, preparing. "Phase-two," he whispered to the air while reopening his eyes

It was a blitz attack. Two fast punches to the abdomen in quick succession. He lost the little bit of food and water he managed to consume on someone's boot. Serves them right, he thought before the offended individual punched him in anger.

He heard Novák laughing at the other guard. Sherlock then felt another cut open up on his cheek to add to his collection.

While he was gasping for breath and choking on vomit, his head was roughly retched back. He felt a searing pain as an unknown substance was injected into his neck. His body slumped barely able to move.

Sherlock's senses were assaulted while his world tumbled and spun. Everything intensified, and not in a good way. Every sound was perfectly clear but too loud. Every sight was perfectly clear and focused but felt overwhelming and too bright. Sherlock was disoriented and unable to discern simple direction such as up or down. Worse, Sherlock's body was hypersensitive to pain.

The slightest touch felt like a stab, a punch like he was being disemboweled. The pain from his collection of cuts and every bruise intensified greatly.

He opened his mouth to groan, but no discernible sound came, only strangling, choking noises and grunts.

The worst part was that his eyes were fully opened, he was fully alert and fully aware of everything that was happening.

He was roughly dragged from his room to another place.

The sound of his body impacting cement broke the relative silence.

The guards allowed Sherlock to fall roughly to the ground. His body was paralyzed so he could not cushion himself from the fall. Ripples of pain shot through his body from the impact.

With difficulty, Sherlock tried to push the pain aside and take in his surroundings. He processed a few things.

First, he was in a room he had never been in before. The room had a large open area with ceiling hooks. There was an autopsy table, modified with restraints. The room also had various equipments, and a table with various small knives, whips, ankle cuffs, and other small devices he had no desire to think about.

There was also some sort of small, square cement pool with some sort of drain. It had cement stairs that one could climb to get in and out of, to access the pool.

Apparently, his captors were giving Sherlock enough time to process everything, to take it all in.

For the first time since being there, Sherlock felt true fear.

Sherlock noticed that they had not bothered to use blindfolds, blinding light, or any disguise.

Someone spoke; female.

He saw her shoes first. She roughly jerked his head up by his hair to look in her eyes. The movement felt like someone was slowly peeling back his scalp.

She waited for his breathing to calm, as she looked him over from head to toe.

In any other situation, he would have described her as attractive, dressed in a dark brown designer suit. She had hazel eyes and light brown hair that was pulled neatly back into a long ponytail. A lab jacket completed the picture.

Of course, Sherlock thought, would not want to get blood on such a nice suit.

She looked like some scientist in a laboratory until you looked into her eyes.

They were void of all compassion, of any humanity. They were calculating. You could almost see death.

He deduced that she in fact was a scientist, however disgraced. She was originally from the Czech Republic although some time was spent in the States. He deduced that she was in fact a brilliant psychopath with homicidal tendencies. In other words, she was both crazy and deadly.

She spoke perfect English with a thick Czech accent.

"Do you like my cocktail? I'm quite proud of it."

She bent down to unbuttoned his shirt rubbing the material between her fingers, "Nice shirt," she said conversationally, "you can always tell quality."

"Too bad it's ruined… so hard to get blood out." She nodded, walked to a table and removed something. Then she walked back.

In the meantime, two sets of hands quickly removed the unbuttoned shirt, next his belt and his trousers came off. Sherlock was relieved that they left his boxers on. This relief was short lived when those too was removed.

_Step one take away control. Step two humiliate and throw off balance, _Sherlock's alert mind noted.

His body reacted badly to the drug. Sweat poured out of him causing him to be chilled as the air hit exposed flesh. The next minute, waves of unbearable heat would ripple through his body. This vicious cycle repeated itself. Sherlock's body shivered and convulsed as waves of pain tore through him. It was unbearable. The sensation of nausea washed over him.

His moans of pain were trapped in his throat and came out as, strangled noises.

_Step three pain. Step four escalate pain_. Sherlock mind analyzed while desperately trying to focus away from the pain.

The men who had undressed him roughly dragged him up right now. His clear mind willed his body to fight back, to resist.

It could not obey.

Sherlock's paralyzed body could not give help, nor could it offer any resistance. Sherlock noticed one of the guards were Novák who seem to be completely enjoying his humiliation.

His hands were re-cuffed and he was dragged, lifted and was put on an overhead hook. His head hung down, his feet did not quite touch the floor. He felt as if someone was using a dull knife, cutting to disconnect his arms from his shoulders.

Pain hovered over Sherlock, ascending and descending on his mind and body.

She peeled back two jelly-like pads and put them on opposite sides of his chest. Two more were peeled. One was put on his lower back. One on Sherlock's lower abdomen. She looked in Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock knew what they were, his breathing picked up.

When she saw recognition in his eyes, she smiled and ran her fingernail callously down the middle of his bare chest leaving an angry, long, red scratch mark. Pain rippled through his chest. Wherever Sherlock's skin was touched, there was a sensation of being burned.

She spoke again as if they were friends having a casual conversation over lunch.

"The cocktail blocks the part of your brain responsible for voluntary movement. The part of your brain responsible for involuntary movement is not affected so the heart still beats, lungs pull in air, and eyes blink."

She nodded and was handed a pair of thick cream-colored gloves. "It inflamed the nerves temporarily that are responsible for sensation. In short it intensifies pain… greatly."

She attached four metal clips with two long intertwined bundles that ran to a machine that was off to the corner.

"I'm still working the bugs out…," she frowned and for one brief moment looked almost… innocent. Like a child that had a broken toy and was trying to fix it, "… its effect does not last long. Also, some of my customers prefer the ability of their guests to scream." She shrugged slightly as though apologizing.

She nodded and someone in the background pulled a switch. A loud hum filled the room.

_**Sherlock's **__**breathing**__** quickened.**_

She continued the monolog.

"The last effect was unexpected; it seems to pull up every unpleasant memory or fear."

"Is there anything you fear, anything you'd rather forget?"

Sherlock shivered… this time he wondered if it was from the pain.

She kissed him almost tenderly on the lips. "You really are quite beautiful. See I am kind, I'm doing you a favor, the pads will keep your skin from blistering or burning. Sorry they also intensify the pain."

_**Sherlock's heart hammered in his chest**_**.**

She kissed him again, roughly this time forcing her tongue into his mouth as her hands invaded his body.

Her touch burned.

She then said, "My employer has asked you politely some questions, you really have been uncooperative. I know your mind is clear and fully active so take this time to think about it. No reason to keep you when you answer, you'll be let go."

They both knew it was a lie.

Without warning, she hit him hard enough to snap his head back with a leather whip. Pain exploded with flashes of light, he could not even groan.

Gagging noises were all that he could produce. He felt a sticky wetness flow down his temple. Sherlock mouth had the coppery taste of blood mixed with saliva; some ran down the side of his mouth.

She moved toward him again. Sherlock wanted to move away but was paralyzed. Only his eyes could see her. Sherlock tried to prepare himself but she did not strike him again. Instead, she tenderly wiped the blood away from his mouth. She then kissed him gently, almost passionately.

_**Strangled protest died in Sherlock's throat**_**.**

She caressed his cheeks gently saying, "_A nyní začínáme_". (And now we begin)

She stepped back.

She locked eyes with his.

She smiled.

Another switch was pulled and Sherlock's body jerked, seizure, and contracted. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, his heart hammered as if it would explode in his chest. He made barely audible gagging noises.

Sherlock's world was pain; nothing existed outside of that world. He tried to escape to his mind, his palace; but the pain would always drag him back.

In his mind, he railed, and shouted curses; but it never made it past his lips. Finally, he screamed, repeatedly, long, blood-curdling screams.

Sherlock's only consolation was that no one could hear.

* * *

><p><strong>***Author's note: <strong>This is my first torture scene. I hope I did not compromise on the experiences of Sherlock's character, balanced by not going too far. What do you think?

By the way, any death threats and hate letters I receive will be burned; well,** except for the really interesting ones. Lots of Love .** *******


	52. LESSGRAPHIC CHAPTER 50

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 50 **Less- Graphic**

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><em><strong>***Author note<strong>_**: I both was asked, and felt that it was necessary to explore what Sherlock went through during his abduction. This is that attempt. *****

For this chapter there is a more intense version available click on the previous chapter marked,GRAPHIC CHAPTER 50.

**Thanks for commenting it lets me know how I'm doing.**

**WARNING:** **This** chapter is rated T, however it still have descriptions of captivity and, torture. I have attempted to make it less graphic. If you are

sensitive on the subject you may still want to skip and resume later, Read the warnings. I always try to tell you if the chapters contain anything outside

of my normal writing style. There is an alternate chapter, title MORE-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 50.

**Choose** which version of the chapter is best for you. Thank and LoL.

****Rating T****

* * *

><p><em><strong>If you're going through hell, keep going<strong>_. ~Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><em><strong>Deleted Memories of Abduction<strong>_

The next day, Sherlock heard heavy steps approaching. There was an urgency to their steps. Something was different. Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, preparing. "Phase-two," he whispered to the air while reopening his eyes

It was a blitz attack. Two fast punches to the abdomen in quick succession. He lost the little bit of food and water he managed to consume on someone's boot. Serves them right, he thought before the offended individual punched him in anger. He heard Novák laughing at the other guard. He then felt another cut open up on his cheek to add to his collection.

While he was gasping for breath and choking, his head was roughly retched back. He felt a searing pain as an unknown substance was injected into his body. His body slumped barely able to move.

His world tumbled and spin. Sherlock felt disoriented. It was difficult to tell which way was up, and which way was down. Everything intensified and not in a good way. Every sound was perfectly clear, but too loud. Every sight was perfectly clear and focused but felt overwhelming and too bright.

His body was hypersensitive to pain. The slightest touch felt like a slap, a punch was much more painful than normal. The pain from every cut and bruise intensified greatly. He opened his mouth to groan, but no discernible sound came, only strangling noises and grunts.

The worst part was that his eyes were fully opened, he was fully alert and fully aware of everything that was happening.

He was roughly dragged from his room to another place. It was a large opened area with small equipment scattered throughout. His handcuffed hands were put on an overhead hook. His head hung down, his feet did not quite touch the floor. He felt as if his arms from his shoulders were disconnecting.

With difficulty, he tried to push the pain aside and take in his surroundings. He processed a few things. First, he was in a room he had never been in before. Second, they had not bothered to use blindfolds, blinding light, or any disguise.

Someone spoke; female.

He saw her shoes first. Nice shoes.

She roughly jerked his head up by his hair to look in her eyes. The movement caused intense pain to his scalp.

She waited for his breathing to calm, as she looked him over from head to feet.

In any other situation, he would have described her as attractive. She was dressed in a dark brown designer suit. She had hazel eyes and light brown hair that was pulled back neatly into a long ponytail. A lab jacket completed the picture.

Of course, Sherlock thought, would not want to get blood on such a nice suit. She looked like some scientist in a laboratory until you looked in her eyes.

They were void of all compassion, of any humanity. They were calculating. You could almost see death.

He deduced that she in fact was a scientist, however disgraced. She was originally from the Czech Republic, although some time was spent in the States. He deduced that she was in fact a brilliant psychopath with homicidal tendencies. In other words, crazy and deadly.

She spoke perfect English with a thick Czech accent.

"Do you like my cocktail? I'm quite proud of it."

She unbuttoned his shirt rubbing the material between her fingers, "Nice shirt," she said conversationally, "you can always tell quality."

"Too bad it's ruined… so hard to get blood out." She walked to a table and removed something. She walked back.

She peeled back too jellylike pads and put them on opposite sides of Sherlock's chest. She looked in his eyes. Sherlock knew what it was, his breathing picked up. When she saw recognition in his eyes, she smiled and ran her fingernail callously down the middle of his bare chest leaving a long red scratch mark. Pain rippled through his chest.

She spoke again as if they were friends having a casual conversation over lunch.

"The cocktail blocks the part of your brain responsible for voluntary movement. The part of your brain responsible for involuntary movement is not affected so the heart still beats, lungs pull in air, and eyes blink."

She nodded and was handed a pair of thick cream-colored gloves. "It inflamed the nerves temporarily that are responsible for sensation. In short it intensifies pain… greatly."

She attached two metal clips with two long intertwined bundles that ran to a machine that was off to the corner.

"I'm still working the bugs out," she frowned and for one brief moment looked almost… innocent. Like a child that had a broken toy and was trying to fix it, "its effect does not last long; some of my customers prefer the ability of their guests to scream." She shrugged slightly as though apologizing.

She nodded and someone in the background pulled a switch. A loud hum filled the room.

_Sherlock breathing quickened._

She then continued the monolog.

"The last effect was unexpected; it seems to pull up every unpleasant memory or fear."

"Is there anything you fear, anything you'd rather forget?" She kissed him almost tenderly on the lips. "You really are quite beautiful. See I am kind, I'm doing you a favor; the pads will keep your skin from blistering or burning. Sorry they also intensify the pain."

She kissed him again, more roughly this time. "My employer has asked you politely some questions, you really have been uncooperative. I know your mind is clear and fully active so take this time to think about it. No reason to keep you when you answer, you'll be let go."

They both knew it was a lie.

Suddenly, she hit him hard enough to snap his head back. Pain exploded and flashes of light, he could not even groan.

Chocking, gagging noises were all that he could produce.

The scientist move toward him again. Sherlock wanted to move away but was paralyzed. Only his eyes could see her. Sherlock tried to prepare himself but she did not strike him. Instead, she kissed him gently almost passionately.

She caressed his cheeks gently saying, "_A nyní začínáme._" (And now we begin)

She stepped back.

For the first time since being captive, Sherlock felt fear.

She locked eyes with his.

She smiled.

Another switch was pulled and Sherlock's eyes rolled back, his body jerked, and contracted, his heart hammered in his chest. He made barely audible gagging noises.

His world was pain; nothing existed outside of that world. He tried to escape to his mind, his palace; but the pain would always drag him back.

In his mind he railed, shouted, cursed; but it never made it past his lips. Finally, he screamed, repeatedly, blood-curdling screams.

Sherlock's only consolation was that no one could hear.

* * *

><p>Sorry everyone the worse is over, um, you do know I am lying, right. :(<p>

Comment please. Love of Love. :)


	53. Chapter 51

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 51

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to<p>

review, comment, and favorite. **Lots of Love.**

**WARNING:** **Some** of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, Please skip or read chapters marked as non-graphic this is still rated T.** If** alternate chapters are offered, it will be marked clearly. For example alternate chapter 6 will be marked NON-GRAPHIC CHAPTER alternate chapters give the information in a more non-graphic way, but still T rated way. As always, thank for reading favorite, and comments.

**Rating temporarily **M****

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle.<em>**

**_James Russell Lowell," _**Cambridge Thirty Years Ago," _Literary Essays_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

After three days, Sherlock was deposited face down on the ground in his room. He lay on the cold concrete floor. It provided some comfort to his abused body. His body shuddered uncontrollably.

Sherlock was drugged, electrocuted, beaten, assaulted in his mind, assaulted in his body, and near drowned.

His body was a mass of bruises and welts, various small cuts, scrapes, and lacerations. He had dried and wet trails of blood. He had almost forgotten about the whipping. They were careful to avoid too much blood loss.

They wanted him alive, for now.

Their purpose was to humiliate and inflict varied kinds of pain. They did that well. Their second purpose was to break him. Even though, Sherlock showed defiance at every opportunity; the truth he kept from them was that they were very close to that goal as well.

Sherlock pushed it all inside. With trembling arms, he managed to push himself to a crawling position. He was rewarded with a spinning room, and spasms of pain. Sherlock put his face back down on the cold concrete and after a minute, tried again.

Groaning from the pain, and soreness; he managed to crawl close to the mattress, but had to stop to rest twice.

Sherlock had not noticed the food, and water they had given him. He became angry at the sight of it. "Slowly kill a man, but don't forget to feed him," Sherlock thought.

He knew their reason for doing this was calculated, not mercy. It was to keep him alive long enough to extract the required information from him. He pushed the anger behind a door, and closed it until he had use for it.

Sherlock's hands were shaking, and still cuffed, and sore. Opening the bottle of water proved to be more difficult than usual. He did manage finally.

He drank some greedily, but his hands were shaking so severely that he spilled half the contents on the floor, and himself.

He let the empty bottle slip from his hands to the floor.

Sherlock finally reached the mattress, and with difficulty crawled on. He noticed they had returned his clothes, and put it in the corner.

The defiance Sherlock acquired as a child came to the surface.

He would put them on in the morning and even tuck his shirt in. He would button every button, and put on his belt.

He would not let them win.

At the moment however, he was too weak for such things. Sherlock managed to pull his shirt, and clumsily drape it around himself as he curled into a ball for warmth.

_He left the room._


	54. Chapter 52

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 52

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

**Lots of Love**

* * *

><p><strong>WARNING:<strong> **Some** of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, Please skip or read chapters marked as non-graphic this is still rated T. **If** alternate chapters are offered, it will be marked clearly. For example alternate chapter 6 will be marked NON-GRAPHIC CHAPTER alternate chapters give the information in a more non-graphic way, but still T rated way. As always, thank for reading favorite, and comments.

**Rating temporarily **T****

* * *

><p><strong><em>If the wind will not serve, take to the oars.<em>** ~Latin Proverb

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Sherlock went inside his mind. His place of logic, safety, and order. A place totally in his control. He would be safe there to remember details missed, exploit his captor's weakness. Anything, that would help him stay alive, and escape.

He entered his mind palace, and closed the doors. Sherlock, safe in his mind, walked through his mind palace dressed in a dark black suit with a navy shirt. His hands were linked casually behind his back.

He heard the familiar soft violin music that played constantly in the background.

Sherlock opened the fifth door to the left, and walked in. He walked to the bookcase, and pick up the book he had held all week. Half the book contained writing. As Sherlock downloaded the events of the day, more writing appeared instantly.

Each book represented data or information or a memory. Sherlock's hands were conduits for his thoughts in this world, his world.

If Sherlock wanted to add information or data, he would move his hands in synchronized short movements. Writings would instantly appear on once blank pages.

If information was not wanted or useful; instantly, pages of writings would disappear with a wave of a Sherlock's hand.

If Sherlock wanted to delete memories, that was trickery.

The entire book would disappear with a concentrated thought. He knew it never left the palace, but was relocated to a locked section in the lower level.

Today, Sherlock took the newest book he had just put information on, and sat on the couch. He then crossed his legs to read. One hand above the book, the pages flip on their own accord.

It was at that moment that Sherlock first realized that something was wrong.

He heard it. Faint at first, then a little louder. His eyebrows creased in surprise. This was his private place, no one else was supposed to be there. He stilled and listened again.

It came again a sniffle followed by the whimper. Not just any whimper, it was the whimper of a child. The child's voice sounded strangely familiar.

Sherlock froze, and swallowed hard. The book, now forgotten, lay beside him on the couch. He strained, listening for a moment.

Sherlock sighed in relief when he heard nothing further; he picked up the book again.

He positioned his left hand above the pages but not touching. Such things as touching a page to flip it were unnecessary here. He started reading from the beginning, the pages flipping at a dizzying speed on their own.

Sherlock extracted all the useful information, held the book in his left hand, and then with a thought, deleted the entire book representing a recent memory.

It disappeared out his hand.

Sherlock knew it was now in the lower level. He rose from the couch, and walked to the bookcase to get another book. He looked at the top shelf. It was outside his reach but that did not matter in this place.

With a synchronized movement of his hand. It disappeared off the top shelf and appeared in his hand. Sherlock smirked, and turn to walk to the couch so that he could continue to read.

Sherlock walked back and sat on the couch, crossing his legs again. As he pushed back his elbow to unbutton his suit coat, his elbow hit something. Sherlock glanced to his right and on the couch there laid the book of memories he had just deleted.

He jumped back as if the book of memories might explode. Sherlock eyed it suspiciously; then slowly, step by step, he inched toward it. Sherlock picked up the book of memories, while keeping it at arm's length, extended from his body.

He felt it then, emotions, emanating from the book.

It felt like electricity traveling from the book, through his arm to his heart then exploding, filling his mind with fear.

Sherlock acted quickly.

He concentrated and willed the book of memories to be deleted. It disappeared again.

The fear left instantly.

He then waited, quietly standing still, hands by his side. Sherlock's eyes traveled around the room. Everything seemed in place.

Sherlock, relieved, picked up the forgotten second book. He sat down again and relaxed. He held his left hand above the book. The book's pages flipped on their own accord at lightning speed. Information and data was being reviewed.

Then he heard it again.

The speed of the pages being flipped slowed down slightly, as he lifted his right hand and with short, precise, synchronized movements in the air; he turned up the volume of the music.

The soft crying was drowned out by soft chords of a violin. The speed of the pages being flipped increased again. He lowered his right hand. His left hand stayed above the book.

Sherlock sighed, relieved.

Still, Sherlock had to admit that the soft whimpering sounds were distracting.

His time was running out in the world outside of the wall of this place. He had to get through several more books before morning.

He had people he cared about; he could not let them go through another funeral.

He could not do that to any of them.

He could not do that to John.

He also had information that could prevent the deaths of an untold amount of people. Sherlock stored the information about the terrorist in a safe place in his mind.

Sherlock told himself he had to stay alive.

He told himself he had to stay sane.

He told himself he had to ignore everything else. There was no other option. It was pure logic.

With his mind safely in its beautifully created walls; Sherlock never noticed when his body made the transition from wake, to sleep.


	55. Chapter 53

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 53

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>WARNING:<strong> Some<strong> of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, Please skip or read chapters marked as non-graphic this is still rated T.** If** alternate chapters are offered, it will be marked clearly. For example alternate chapter 6 will be marked NON-GRAPHIC CHAPTER alternate chapters give the information in a more non-graphic way, but still T rated way. As always, thank for reading favorite, and comments.

**Rating temporarily **T** **

* * *

><p><strong><em>"If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith will last in the midst of the blackest storm."<em>** ~ Mahatma Gandhi

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

The next morning, Sherlock woke in his cell. No one came to drag him out that morning. Sherlock never saw **her** again. He was left alone for three days.

During those three days, Sherlock heard talking and movement.

He paid attention.

He listened.

Novák could not resist saying _good morning_; however, after that, at least He was left in relative quiet to think. His body recovered somewhat, although he was still weak.

In those three days, Sherlock noticed something new about himself.

Sherlock noticed that if his back was turned to the door, or somehow the guards had entered and he was asleep, he jumped.

He also noticed that sometimes his breathing came too quickly, and he had to concentrate to slow it down.

He told himself that it was a residual effect of the drug.

He told himself that it was an effect of his healing body.

He did this, because he did not want to consider the possibility that maybe, it was fear.

On the fourth day, Sherlock would find out that fear was a real thing.

As he closed his eyes, He heard the words of a book softly spoken in his head.

"_Nor crown nor coin can halt time's flight,  
>or stay the armies of the night.<br>King and villain, lad and lass,  
>all answer to the hour glass.<em>

_"A gentle hand will help the dead,  
>to find the way to their last bed.<br>Who engineers the mortal's end,  
>will tell you he is man's best friend."<em>

* * *

><p>The above lines came from,<span> The Enchanted World: Ghosts by Time-Life Books. <span>

Keep the comments coming; it keeps me motivated. Thanks, and Lots of Love. Zacha


	56. GRAPHIC CHAPTER 54

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 54

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy.

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite

* * *

><p><strong>For this chapter there, is a less intense version available. Click on the next chapter marked <strong>Less-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 54.

**Thanks for commenting it lets me know how I am doing.**

**WARNING:** **Some **of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, please skip, or **for a less-graphic chapter 54, skip this chapter and click on the alternate chapter marked, LESS-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 54.** This chapter offer similar information in a less-graphic way. Remember it will still be T rated, and Sherlock is still in captivity.

****Rating temporarily M****

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear."<em>**~ Mark Twain

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Sherlock was moved to another room. He had been there once before when he first came. It was a dim and dirty room. The room contained what appeared to be a desk at the end of the small room.

It was metal, long, and low to the ground. A few odd small piping parts were scattered on the floor just outside the room.

A chair was the only other furniture in the room.

Sherlock was alone with Novák. He did not like being alone with him. Novák was on the phone talking. No wonder they name him `Mr. Stupid', he thought.

Another guard came in, and spoke in broken English. "You know the boose don't alike you on da phone."

"Who going to tell?" Novák replied looking dangerously into the eyes of the other soldier.

A silent standoff took place, which resulted in the other soldier backing down; he exited the room by walking away backward, until he was completely out the room.

Smirking, Novák walked toward Sherlock who had managed to use the wall to push himself up to a standing position.

With his handcuffed hands tensed, Sherlock was ready to defend himself if needed. Sherlock shook slightly from fatigue and pain. However, his eyes were like steel.

He glared warily at Novák.

"Even now you fighted," Novák said while advancing, "fighting will make it worse, you knowned that."

The logical part of Sherlock knew he would only anger the guard. However, there was another obstinate part.

The part that fought childhood bullies. The part that found it hard to stay down when struck by much larger boys; this part dared Novák to come closer.

Sherlock scanned the much larger man, trying to deduce where best to spend the energy of his weaken body to strike Novák.

A shadow of doubt crossed Novák's face when he noticed the subtle shift in Sherlock's continence.

Novák stopped walking for a minute.

Then the shadow cleared, and Novák's face became stone like again. He smiled and started to advance, every step was agonizingly slow.

Novák looked Sherlock up, and down slowly. His eyes lingered a little longer than was necessary.

"You are supposes to be so clever, so impress me." Novák advanced closer.

"Would you like me to speak slowly and use simple words?" Sherlock asked. There was no reason to be civil; he deduced the results would be the same.

Novak advanced the blood lust obvious.

Novak chuckled at Sherlock while looking him in the eyes.

He was almost close enough to touch Sherlock now.

Sherlock could smell Novák's body sweat and stench.

Sherlock chose a spot on Novák's body and prepared to strike.

Sudden footsteps outside the door interrupted Novák.

* * *

><p>The door opened, Novák looked angry for the interruption until, he realized it was Ayyad. He then greeted him respectfully and stepped back.<p>

He looked Sherlock in the eyes, letting him know that they would continue their _talk _latter.

"Hello Mr. Holmes, have your accommodations improved?" Ayyad moved over to the edge of the desk, wiping it clean with his handkerchief first, then sitting on the edge.

"Please sit," Ayyad, said taking out his knife and running it dull edge over his own thumb.

Before Sherlock could react three strong hands, including Novák's, grabbed him, forcing him into the chair. They then un-cuffed his handcuffs long enough to re-cuff them to the chair. They did not bother to lock the door behind them.

Sherlock's stomach sank.

He saw no one else outside, and scarcely heard any movement in twenty-four hours. They had completely abandoned that location, except for a few soldiers.

All that was left, appeared to be; Ayyad, his three men present, and a few scattered soldiers who were walking outside the room. Sherlock knew his time was up.

Today was the day they planned to break him and kill him.

Ayyad began speaking.

"The name of the woman, have you thought of it yet. Yes, we know it was a woman. With time, we would know everything; the problem is Mr. Holmes we do not have time, and neither do you."

Sherlock said nothing.

Ayyad nodded, and one of the guards pulled back, and brutally struck Sherlock in the stomach several times.

The sound of air being expelled from Sherlock's lungs, and grunts were heard.

Sherlock ground his teeth together, and fought for air in between strikes. Waves of nausea rolled through him. Sweat plastered his curls to his forehead. Pain radiated from his abdomen outward.

"Enough," Ayyad said. The guard gave one last punch and retreated.

Sherlock bent himself over trying to catch his breath, and blinked the stinging sweat and blood from his eyes.

Sherlock coughed and dry heaved briefly; then when his breathing was under control, he sat himself straight again, and resumed staring at the wall.

Novák laugh quietly beside Sherlock.

Ayyad watched him curiously, and then resumed talking.

"Have you found your tongue yet Mr. Holmes? Let's start with the first question, the woman."

"Our reports indicate that you were with her in Vienna. You might as well tell us everything. We already have the information; I just need you to confirm it. No need for you to die screaming like she did."

Sherlock looked at him and knew instantly that he was lying.

Sherlock said nothing.

Ayyad nodded again and his men grabbed Sherlock once more.

Ayyad moved and stood next to Sherlock. He slowly, very slowly, made a shallow cut to his chest, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock's stubbornness came to the surface he ground his teeth together and pressed his lips tight, drawing blood as he bite his lip, to help control himself.

Sherlock grunted but did not scream. He was determined not to give Ayyad or Novák's the satisfaction.

Sherlock felt the warm sticky flow down his chest.

The increase in Novák's breathing was audible.

"Nice suit… I'd hate… for you… to… h ...h... have to get… blood out… of it," Sherlock gasped in between breaths, as he blinked back the tears.

"It's alright I have a good cleaner." Ayyad said as he wiped the blood on Sherlock's tattered shirt.

"Your clothes however are beyond saving," Ayyad remarked as he eyed Sherlock up and down.

He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into Sherlock's eyes.

"Do you… mind I'm… trying to… quit." Sherlock could not stop himself from using his mind to fighting back in some way.

"You're right, I really shouldn't smoke indoor," he smiled invading Sherlock's personal space. He put his hand on Sherlock's shirt and unbuttoned it. Sherlock, misunderstanding his intention, for the first time had panic set in.

Ayyad nodded, and Novák leaned down to restrain Sherlock.

The urge to flee was too strong to control. His mind had betrayed him; he lost control of his body. He reacted and hit Novák in the nose with the side of his head.

The crack was audible. Blood gushed from Novák nose; he was not amused.

Novák in shock let out a yelp, and let go for a second. He recovered quickly, and his strong arms wrapped itself around Sherlock's neck from behind.

He pulled Sherlock back in the chair. Sherlock gasped and choked as he felt his air supply being cut off. Sherlock tried to struggle, but was restrained by the soldiers. His body was pulled awkwardly away from his wrist, which were already raw from struggling.

Nidal Ayyad proceeded to pull one side of his shirt aside and extinguish his cigarette on the side of Sherlock's chest.

The lack of air caused stars to dance across his eyes. Sherlock's struggles became less as the lack of oxygen in his body made Sherlock start to lose focus. Sherlock felt shearing pain, and smelled the smell of burnt flesh.

"That's enough!" Ayyad said.

Sherlock continued to gasp, cough and struggled for air. Novák frowned and cursed but let go.

Someone came into the room quickly and talked in a low and urgent voice. Ayyad nodded curtly with a look of displeasure on his face.

"Tell everyone to leave."

"Now?" One of the guards asked.

"Of course now!" Ayyad growled.

Sherlock gulped in lungs full of air, as the room started to come back into focus. Sherlock continued to breathe harshly. He choked, and coughed trying to get oxygen to his body, and clear his mind.

He took note of the fact that Ayyad yelled. Sherlock had never heard him raise his voice. Something was wrong.

Mr. Holmes, your brother is almost as much trouble as you are.

Sherlock smirked despite the pain and his situation.

"Well Mr. Holmes I thought we might use you as a hostage but plans have changed. Come Mr. Holmes; cooperate so we can all go home." Ayyad said as he looked curiously at Sherlock.

Sherlock decided that Ayyad, for such a brilliant man, was a terrible liar.

"Too bad you're not a criminal, with a mind like yours; we could have gone far together," Ayyad said.

"Sorry… not… my… type." Sherlock said sincerely, breathing in-between each word, the coughing finally subsiding.

"I can see why my predecessor found you so interesting."

He got in Sherlock's personal space; Sherlock cursed himself silently for flinching.

He whispered, "We torture you, beat you, threatened you, put a gun to your head, and pulled the trigger; whipped you, and electrocuted you."

"Did I miss anything?" He asked looking at Novák then looking back at Sherlock, he continued, "Oh…maybe I did."

"It seems to only make you more obstinate. Very impressive really but playtime is over Mr. Holmes." Ayyad sounded irritated.

"I need to know **what** you know,** how** you knew it, how you knew I was alive, and **whom** you told. I need to know **whom the woman **is that you were with. I need a name and location. Your blank face does not fool me Mr. Holmes I know you know where she is. I'll kill her painlessly a bullet in the head, I promise. She'll never know it was you."Ayyad moved he slowly paced back and forth front of Sherlock as he spoke.

Sherlock, again, stared straight ahead, and said nothing.

Ayyad nodded to Novák who grinned despite the bloody broken nose.

"I had hoped you would be reasonable," Ayyad said suddenly still.

Ayyad ran a finger up and down Sherlock's exposed chest. Sherlock shook slightly from revulsion.

Ayyad noticed.

Ayyad smiled and spoke.

"You don't flinch when hit; you're immune, use to it I think."

"You don't react to being hit, but you cannot stand to be touched," Ayyad whisper in Sherlock's ear.

"I now know how to break you Mr. Holmes," Ayyad said before withdrawing and stepping back.

Sherlock stared straight ahead looking at the wall.

He could hear Novák's breathing heavily and smell his sweat.

Ayyad and the other guards walked away, "Watch the head I need him conscious. Peel the skin off his flesh if you like, but don't **kill** him…for now."

Novák nodded the smile leaving his face.

"I don't approve of your _methods _but use whatever method you like." Ayyad commented.

Novák's smile appeared again.

"**_I need the information today Novák, do you understand_**?"Ayyad then spoke to Novák briefly in Czech.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

For once, Sherlock wished that he did not understand what they were saying.


	57. LESSGRAPHIC CHAPTER 54

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 54

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite

* * *

><p><strong>For this chapter there is a more intense version available click on the previous chapter marked <strong>GRAPHIC CHAPTER 54.

**Thanks for commenting it lets me know how I am doing.**

**WARNING:** **This** chapter is rated T, however it have descriptions of captivity and, torture. I have attempted to make it less graphic. If you are sensitive on the subject you may still want to skip and resume later, Read the warnings. I always try to tell you if the chapters contain anything outside of my normal writing style. There is an alternate chapter, title MORE-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 54. Choose which version of the chapter is best for you. Thank and LoL.

****Rating T****

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear."<em>**~ Mark Twain

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Sherlock was moved to another room. He had been there once before when he first came. It was a dim and dirty room. The room contained what appeared to be a desk at the end of the small room.

It was metal, long, and low to the ground. A few odd small piping parts were scattered on the floor just outside the room.

A chair was the only other furniture in the room.

Sherlock was alone with Novák. He did not like being alone with him. Novák was on the phone talking. No wonder they name him "Mr. Stupid", Sherlock thought.

Another guard came in, and spoke in broken English. "You know the boose don't alike you on da phone."

"Who going to tell?" Novák replied looking dangerously into the eyes of the other soldier.

A silent standoff took place, which resulted in the other soldier backing down; he exited the room by walking away backward, until he was completely out the room.

Smirking, Novák walked toward Sherlock who had managed to use the wall to push himself up to a standing position.

With his handcuffed hands tensed, Sherlock was ready to defend himself if needed. Sherlock shook slightly from fatigue and pain. However, his eyes were like steel.

He glared warily at Novák.

"Even now you fighted," Novák said while advancing, "fighting will make it worse, you knowned that."

The logical part of Sherlock knew he would only anger the guard. However, there was another obstinate part.

The part that fought childhood bullies. The part that found it hard to stay down when struck by much larger boys; this part dared Novák to come closer.

Sherlock scanned the much larger man, trying to deduce where best to spend the energy of his weaken body to strike Novák.

A shadow of doubt crossed Novák's face when he noticed the subtle shift in Sherlock's continence.

Novák stopped walking for a minute.

Then the shadow cleared, and Novák's face became stone like again. He smiled and started to advance, every step was agonizingly slow.

"You are supposes to be so clever, so impress me." Novák advanced closer.

"Would you like me to speak slowly and use simple words?" Sherlock asked. There was no reason to be civil; he deduced the results would be the same.

Novák advanced; he was almost to Sherlock now.

Footsteps outside the door interrupted Novák.

* * *

><p>Then the door open, Novák looked angry for the interruption until, he realized it was Ayyad. He then greeted him respectfully and stepped back. He looked Sherlock in the eyes, letting him know that they would continue their <em>talk <em>latter.

"Hello Mr. Holmes, have your accommodations improved?" Ayyad moved over to the edge of the desk, wiping it clean with his handkerchief first, then sitting on the edge.

"Please sit," Ayyad, said while smiling and looking Sherlock over.

Before Sherlock could react three strong hands, including Novák's, grabbed him, forcing him into the chair. They then un-cuffed his handcuffs long enough to re-cuff them to the chair. They did not bother to lock the door behind them.

Sherlock's stomach sank.

He saw no one else outside, and scarcely heard any movement in twenty-four hours. They had completely abandoned that location, except for a few soldiers.

All that was left, appeared to be; Ayyad, his three men present, and a few scattered soldiers who were walking outside the room.

Sherlock knew his time was up. Today was the day they planned to break him and kill him.

Ayyad began speaking.

"The name of the woman, have you thought of it yet. Yes, we know it was a woman. With time, we would know everything; the problem is Mr. Holmes we do not have time, and neither do you."

"Our reports indicate that you were with her in Vienna. You might as well tell us everything. We already have the information; I just need you to confirm it. No need for you to die screaming like she did."

Sherlock looked at him and knew instantly that he was lying.

Ayyad moved and stood next to Sherlock. Ayyad nodded, and one of the guards pulled back, and brutally struck Sherlock in the stomach several times.

The sound of air being expelled from Sherlock's lungs, and grunts were heard.

Sherlock ground his teeth together, and fought for air in between strikes. Pain radiated from his abdomen outward.

"Enough," Ayyad said. The guard suddenly struck Sherlock on the side of his face.

The guard had a ring on, and this caused a small cut to open up on the side of Sherlock's face. This left a trail of blood.

The guard then retreated.

Sherlock grunted but did not scream, he was determined not to give Ayyad or Novák's the satisfaction.

Novák's breathing increased.

"Nice suit… I'd hate… for you… to… h ...h... have to get… blood out… of it," Sherlock gasped in between breaths, as he blinked back the tears.

"It's alright I have a good cleaner." Ayyad said as he as he wiped the blood on Sherlock's tattered shirt.

"Your clothes however are beyond saving," Ayyad remarked as he eyed Sherlock up and down.

He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into Sherlock's eyes.

"Do you… mind I'm… trying to quit." He could not stop himself from using his mind to fighting back in some way.

"You're right, I really shouldn't smoke indoors," he smiled invading Sherlock's personal space. He put his hand on Sherlock's shirt and unbuttoned it. Sherlock, misunderstanding his intention. For the first time had panic set in.

Ayyad nodded, and Novák leaned down to restrain Sherlock.

The urge to flee was too strong to control. Sherlock's mind had betrayed him; he lost control of his body. He reacted and hit Novák in the nose with the side of his head.

The crack was audible. Blood gushed from Novák nose; he was not amused.

Novák in shock let out a yelp, and let go for a second. He recovered quickly, and his strong arms wrapped itself around Sherlock's neck from behind.

He pulled Sherlock back in the chair. Sherlock gasped and choked as he felt his air supply being cut off. Sherlock tried to struggle, but was restrained by the soldiers. His body was pulled awkwardly away from his wrist, which were already raw from struggling.

Nidal Ayyad proceeded to pull one side of his shirt aside and extinguish his cigarette on the side of Sherlock's chest.

The lack of air caused stars to dance across his eyes. Sherlock's struggles became less as the lack of oxygen in his body made Sherlock start to lose focus. Sherlock felt searing pain, and smelled the smell of burnt flesh.

"That's enough!" Ayyad said.

Sherlock continued to gasp, cough and struggled for air. Novák frowned and cursed but let go.

Someone came into the room quickly and talked in a low and urgent voice. Ayyad nodded curtly with a look of displeasure on his face.

"Tell everyone to leave."

"Now?" One of the guards asked.

"Of course now!" Ayyad growled.

Sherlock gulped in lungs full of air, as the room started to come back into focus. Sherlock continued to breathe harshly. He choked, and coughed trying to get oxygen to his body, and clear his mind.

He took note of the fact that Ayyad yelled. Sherlock had never heard him raise his voice. Something was wrong.

Mr. Holmes your brother is almost as much trouble a you are.

Sherlock smirked despite the pain and his situation.

"Well Mr. Holmes I thought we might use you as a hostage but plans have changed. Come Mr. Holmes; cooperate so we can all go home." Ayyad said as he looked curiously at Sherlock.

Sherlock decided that Ayyad, for such a brilliant man, was a terrible liar.

"Too bad you're not a criminal, with a mind like yours; we could have gone far together,"Ayyad said.

"Sorry… not… my… type." Sherlock said sincerely, breathing in-between each word, the coughing finally subsiding.

"I can see why my predecessor found you so interesting."

He got in Sherlock's personal space; Sherlock cursed himself silently for flinching.

He whispered, "We torture you, beat you, threatened you, put a gun to your head, and pulled the trigger; whipped you, and electrocuted you."

"Did I miss anything?" He asked looking at Novák then looking back at Sherlock, he continued, "Oh… maybe I did."

"It seems to only make you more obstinate. Very impressive really but playtime is over Mr. Holmes." Ayyad sounded irritated.

"I need to know **what** you know,** how** you knew it, how you knew I was alive, and **whom** you told. I need to know **whom the woman** is that you were with. I need a name and location. Your blank face does not fool me Mr. Holmes I know you know where she is. I'll kill her painlessly a bullet in the head, I promise. She'll never know it was you." Ayyad had moved pacing slowly as he spoke back to stand in front of Sherlock.

As always, Sherlock stared straight ahead, and said nothing.

Ayyad nodded to Novák who grinned despite the bloody broken nose.

"I had hoped you would be reasonable," Ayyad said suddenly still.

Ayyad ran a finger up and down Sherlock's exposed chest. Sherlock shook slightly from revulsion.

Ayyad noticed.

Ayyad smiled and spoke.

"You don't flinch when hit; you're immune, use to it I think."

"You don't react to being hit, but you cannot stand to be touched," Ayyad whisper in Sherlock's ear.

"I now know how to break you Mr. Holmes," Ayyad said before withdrawing and stepping back.

Sherlock stared straight ahead looking at the wall.

He could hear Novák's breathing.

Ayyad walked away, "Watch the head I need him conscious. Don't **kill** him… for now."

Novák nodded the smile leaving his face.

"I don't approve of your _methods _but use whatever method you like." Ayyad commented.

Novák's smile appeared again.

"**_I need the information today Novák, do you understand_**?" Ayyad then spoke to Novák briefly in Czech.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

For once, Sherlock wished that he did not understand what they were saying.


	58. GRAPHIC CHAPTER 55

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 55

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 55

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

**For this chapter there is a less intense version available click on the next chapter marked **Less-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 55.

**Thanks for commenting it lets me know how I am doing.**

* * *

><p><strong>WARNING:<strong> **Some **of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, please skip or **for a less graphic chapter 55, skip this chapter and click on the alternate chapter marked, LESS-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 55.** This chapter offer similar information in a less-graphic way. Remember it will still be T rated, and Sherlock is still in captivity.

****Rating temporarily M****

* * *

><p><strong><em>"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?"~<em>**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Ayyad walked out not looking back.

Sherlock closed his eyes he went in his mind; He re-winded the tape of events. He looked for every possible escape, weapon, or advantage.

He slowed his mental tape down. His subconscious mind had noticed something over a week ago. It was the only other time he was in this dim room. He slowed the tape even more, and in his mind's eye he saw something just a reflection in the dark, under the desk, but what? Suddenly he knew.

Pain exploded in his body, "… pay attention when I speaked to you," Novák screamed spraying spit intermingle with the blood from his broken nose on Sherlock's face.

The stench of Novák's breath hit Sherlock's nose.

Sherlock's body spasm and shuddered painfully. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as the room swam in front of him. Novák had used a Taser prod on him. His muscled contracted and he gagged as the electrical currents ran through his body.

Sherlock became disoriented.

He was at the mercy of Novák; the problem was Novák had no mercy.

Novák hit Sherlock a few more times. The sickening sound of flesh impacting flesh filled the room. Novák kicked Sherlock in the side several times. Novák's boot came away with blood.

At some point when Sherlock began to come to himself. The room began to come slowly into focus. That was when he first began to notice vaguely that he had been moved.

He was pulled from the chair roughly, and pushed face down on the floor. Time seemed to stop and start in Sherlock's disoriented mind. The handcuffs hung from only one hand now, the other hand was freed sometime during movement.

Novák's knife was out as he a cut shallow marks on Sherlock's lower back slowly."I marked you; you belonged to me now,"

Novák straddle Sherlock's thighs, as he pulled Sherlock's toward himself invading every aspect of the younger man's body. Novák repositioned Sherlock to himself, while crushing his face and chest to the floor.

Novák used the Taser on Sherlock again, laughing. The electrical currents cause him to once again contract painfully. His mind swirled.

As Sherlock's muscles contracted, he gagged as his body struggled to inhale oxygen.

Sherlock felt a wave of nausea roll over him; he closed his eyes again. He tried to orient himself and regain his sense of balance. The last of the cobwebs cleared from his head as he felt panic rise.

"I haven permission to do anything I wanted to you now, as long as I keep you alive. Until I get what I want. Oh, also until I get information."

Novák laughed at his own joke. "It's just us here, so help us have some fun. Well fun for me, you maybe not so much."

Novak split Sherlock's shirt in two, purposely pressing deep enough to also cut skin. Novák pressed his knee into Sherlock's spine. He felt as if his back would break. Novák took a moment to admire his handy work. He pushed the torn shirt up, Novák hand lingering on Sherlock's bare lower back.

Sherlock's panic increased.

Sherlock somehow managed to pry his hands away before Novák could re-cuff them, and tried blindly to elbow Novák. He was rewarded with the sound of air being expelled from Novák's lungs. Novák cursed and showed Sherlock that he was not amused by punching Sherlock in the kidney and slamming the side of his head on the cement.

The room came in and out of focus. A long groan tore itself from Sherlock's lips before he could stop it. He cursed himself silently; he knew the sound would only excite the man.

Sherlock found himself crushed in the prone position down on the concrete with Novák struggling on top. He tried to shake the larger soldier off. In the back of the younger man's mind, he heard the pull of zips and the rustle of clothing being removed. He heard a soft thud as Novák's jacket was thrown in the corner.

Novák's eyes changed colors. They were cold as ice and the color of the darkest night, death itself.

"I want you to struggle for me." Novák said in a low dangerous voice.

Sherlock did not intend to disappoint. Adrenaline filled him. He tried to shake the much larger man off. He struggles against the pain. Sherlock managed to break his hands free of Novák's hold again, he blindly grabbed under the desk.

Sherlock struggled as he stretched under the desk, almost. He had a silent mantra; ignore everything, stretch, ignore everything. Stretch!

"**Now scream,** "Novák said as he slid the knife under Sherlock's belt and clothing and cut.

_Sherlock gasped a strangled sound as white-hot,_ _shearing, blinding pain threatened to tear his body and mind apart. Sherlock felt the arms of insanity rap itself around his mind, around him. Somewhere inside of him, he knew that once its grip tightened, it would never let go. At that moment, it would have been so very easy to give in, or he could do what he had done all his life. He could fight_.

"**You first,**" Sherlock whispered.

Novák screamed.

* * *

><p>Novák felt pain explode in his head. Novák swung the knife blindly. They struggled, Sherlock managed to get partially upright. Novák's picked up Sherlock and body slammed Sherlock against the wall. Stars exploded as he was suffocated with Novák's elbow at his throat.<p>

Sherlock took his hand with the handcuffs dangling, grabbed the dangling handcuff then rammed it up the already broken noise of Novák. He was released immediately as Novák stumbled grunting. Sherlock hit the floor gasping for air.

Novák cursed and eyes filled with blind, uncontrolled, rage; he shook from the force of it.

Novák surrendered to the rage completely.

"Now you die," Novák growled as his hand came extended above his head, and came down forcefully as he simultaneously ran forward.

In a split second, Sherlock eyed the broken hollowed out pipe that had dropped from his hands, he instinctually took it up with both hands to swing, but had no time.

Novák tripped and being a big man, gravity worked in Sherlock's favor. Novák impaled himself through the chest, on the jagged edge. As he fell full body on top of Sherlock.

It took a second for both men to process what had happened. Novák stared into the eyes of Sherlock as blood poured out of both his mouth, and the hollow end of the tube.

Novák last thought as he gasped his last breath, and his eyes close shut; was to wonder how this half-dead man could have gotten the better of him.


	59. LESSGRAPHIC CHAPTER 55

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 55

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong>For this chapter there is a more intense version available click on the previous chapter marked <strong>GRAPHIC CHAPTER 55.

**Thanks for commenting it lets me know how I am doing.**

**WARNING:** **This** chapter is rated T, however it have descriptions of captivity and, torture. I have attempted to make it less graphic. If you are sensitive on the subject you may still want to skip and resume later, Read the warnings. I always try to tell you if the chapters contain anything outside of my normal writing style. There is an alternate chapter, title MORE-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 55. Choose which version of the chapter is best for you. Thank and LoL.

****Rating temporarily T****

* * *

><p><strong><em>"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?"~<em> **Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Ayyad walked out not looking back.

Sherlock closed his eyes he went in his mind; He re-winded the tape of events. He looked for every possible escape, weapon, or advantage.

He slowed his mental tape down, His subconscious mind had noticed something over a week ago, the only other time he was in this dim room. He slowed the tape even more and in his mind's eye he saw something; just a reflection in the dark, under the desk, but what? Suddenly he knew.

Pain exploded in his body, "…pay attention," Novák screamed spraying spit intermingle with the blood from his broken nose on Sherlock's face. The stench of his breath hit Sherlock's face.

Sherlock vaguely notices Novák punching him in his side and back.

Sherlock's body spasm and shuddered painfully. The room swam out of focus in front of him. Novák had used a Taser prod on him. His muscled contracted and he gagged as the electrical currents ran through his body.

Sherlock became disoriented.

He was at the mercy of Novák; the problem was Novák had no mercy.

Novák hit Sherlock a few more times. The sound of flesh impacting flesh filled the room. Novák stood above Sherlock and laughed. Novák's boot connected with Sherlock's side once.

At some point when Sherlock began to come to himself he vaguely noticed he was being shifted. The room began to slowly come into focus. He had been freed from the chair and pushed to the floor face down.

Time seemed to stop and start. The handcuffs hung from only one hand now, the other hand was freed sometime during movement. Novák's knife was out as he cut a few shallow marks on Sherlock's lower back slowly.

Novák straddle Sherlock's thighs as he pulled Sherlock's toward him.

Sherlock face and chest was crushed to the floor.

Sherlock felt a wave of nausea rolled over him; he closed his eyes again. Sherlock tried to orient himself and regain his sense of balance, The last of the cobwebs cleared from his head as he felt panic rise.

"I haven permission to do anything I wanted to you now, as long as I keep you alive. Until I get what I want. Oh, also until I get information,"

Novák laughed at his own joke. "It's just us here, so help us have some fun. Well fun for me, you maybe not so much."

Novak split Sherlock's shirt in two, purposely pressing deep enough to also cut skin. Novák pressed his knee into Sherlock's spine. Sherlock felt like his back would break. Novák took a moment to admire his handy work. He pushed the torn shirt up, Novák hand lingering on Sherlock's bare lower back.

Sherlock's panic increased.

Sherlock manages to pry his hands away before Novák could re-cuff them and tried blindly to elbow Novák. Sherlock was rewarded with the sound of air being expelled from Novák's lungs. Novák cursed and showed Sherlock that he was not amused by punching Sherlock in the kidney and slamming the side of his head on the cement.

The room came in and out of focus. A long groan tore itself from Sherlock's lips before he could stop it. Sherlock cursed himself; he knew the sound would only excite the man.

Sherlock found himself crushed face down on the concrete with Novák struggling on top. Sherlock tried to shake him off.

In the back of Sherlock's mind, he heard the pull of zips and the rustle of clothing being removed.

He heard a soft thud as Novák's jacket was thrown in the corner.

Novák's eyes changed colors. They were cold as ice and the color of the darkest night, death itself.

"I want you to struggle for me." Novák said in a low dangerous voice.

Sherlock did not intend to disappoint. Adrenaline filled him. Sherlock tried to shake the much larger man off. He struggles against the pain, as he broke his hands free again, he blindly grabbed under the desk.

Sherlock struggled as he stretched under the desk, almost. He had a silent mantra; ignore everything, stretch, ignore everything. Stretch!

"**Now scream,** "Novák said as he slid the knife under Sherlock's belt and clothing and cut.

"**You first,**" Sherlock whispered

Novák screamed.

* * *

><p>Novák felt pain explode in his head. Novák swung the knife blindly. They struggled, Sherlock managed to get partially upright. Novák's picked up Sherlock and body slammed Sherlock against the wall. Stars exploded as he was suffocated with Novák's elbow at his throat.<p>

Sherlock took his hand with the handcuffs dangling, grabbed the dangling handcuff then rammed it up the already broken noise of Novák.

Sherlock was released immediately as Novák stumbled grunting. Sherlock hit the floor gasping for air.

Novák cursed and eyes filled with blind, uncontrolled, rage; he shook from the force of it.

Novák surrendered to the rage completely.

"Now you die," Novák growled as his hand came extended above his head and came down forcefully as he simultaneously ran forward.

In a split second, Sherlock eyed the broken hollowed out pipe that had dropped from his hands, he instinctually took it up with both hands to swing, but had no time.

Novák tripped and being a big man, gravity worked in Sherlock's favor. Novák impaled himself through the chest, on the jagged edge. As he fell full body on top of Sherlock.

It took a second for both men to process what had happened. Novák stared into the eyes of Sherlock as blood poured out of both his mouth and the hollow end of the tube.

Novák last thought as he gasped his last breath, was to wonder how this half-dead man could have gotten the better of him.


	60. Chapter 56

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 56

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy.

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite,

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for commenting it lets me know how I am doing.<strong>

**WARNING:** **This **chapter contains scenes that have descriptions of captivity and, torture, and all things not nice. Thanks.

****Rating temporarily M****

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Novák slummed against Sherlock's body, dead. Sherlock with difficulty rolled him off. He shakily removed the handcuff from the one hand it was still attached to.

Sherlock tried to stand; pain and dizziness exploded. The room swum before him. He closed his eyes; opened them and, taking a breath, tried again. He groaned with pain as his hand instinctually held his side.

Once standing, he glanced at his hand where he felt the sticky wetness. 'Oh stabbed,' he thought clinically.

He looked at the blood covered metallic blade on the floor.

Sherlock shook his head to clear the fog and groaned again. "Think," he said aloud.

He reached inside of the wetness and pressed with his hand, hard; he allowed himself a hollow scream.

A wave of nausea passed, and he tried to suppress the dry heaves swallowing hard, as he leaned his head against the wall for support. Sherlock closed his eyes. He knew time was against him.

"The phone," Sherlock thought.

He opened his eyes blinking away the sting of sweat mixed with blood.

Clumsy fingers stumbled inside of Novák's jacket, and found the phone. With trembling hands he tried to call with no results.

The screen was cracked.

He tried calling again the phone rang once, twice, three times.

"John picked up," Sherlock whispered a plea.

On the fourth ring, someone answered the line.

With a shaky voice, "J… J… John," Sherlock stammered.

"Hello… **Hello**… Sorry, I can't hear you mate…, call back." The call ended.

"No… John." Sherlock closed his eyes, as another wave of nausea hit.

John would not recognize the number. He would not know it was him. Emotions rolled through Sherlock, he pushed them back down, no time, "Try again," he told himself.

With trembling hands he hurriedly texted John.

"Please," Sherlock said, half plea, half prayer as he hit, send. Sherlock hoped that John had gotten the message. The phone beeped to show that the text got through.

Sherlock knew he had to move.

Sherlock swore in frustration. He hesitated a moment, then picked up Novák's large jacket, while he fixed his clothes best he could. He stumbled along holding on to the wall.

He tried to keep one hand on his abdomen to stop the flow of blood.

Sherlock moved.


	61. Chapter 57

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 57

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong>"<em>You must be at the end of your rope. I felt a tug."<em>** ~Author Unknown

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

John had received a simple text.

John relived the most recent events as the lights of London reflected in the glass of the cab.

He just finished his second call to Lestrade.

Lestrade was livid that John was on his way to the banks to search for Sherlock, a Sherlock that was supposedly dead and buried.

To Lestrade's credit, he quickly recovered from the shock, and focused his energies on putting a trace on the number, and having units to start a search.

Something bothered John, nagged at him. Last, he saw Sherlock two weeks ago; Sherlock told him he would be out for a bit.

"He wore a black knit hat, a water resistant jacket, and …" John whispered to himself; thinking.

John dry wiped his face.

"You see but don't observe," Sherlock had often said. John closed his eyes and looked into his mind.

The shoes; Sherlock did not particularly like them, but once commented how they were good for running and waterproof. Therefore, wherever he was planning on going, was near water or severe dampness, and he was prepared to cover large amounts of distance quickly.

John opened his eyes, and mentally reassured himself as he felt for his gun. He would start his search at the abandoned warehouses nearest to the Thames. He searched his phone for information briefly. Four warehouses were in close proximity, but only two were next to the Thames.

He would tell Sherlock if… no when he found him.

He might even be slightly impressed, John thought grimly.


	62. Chapter 58

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 58

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite<p>

**WARNING:** **This **chapter contains scenes that have descriptions of captivity and, torture, and all things not nice. Thanks.

****Rating temporarily M****

* * *

><p><strong><em>"If you're going through hell, keep going." ~<em>**Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

Even if John got the message, and understood where the several buildings in the area were, he had to get out.

If Ayyad's men did decide to come back, it would not be hard to locate him, Sherlock thought bleakly.

As Sherlock walked, he left a trail on the floor as droplets of blood dripped slowly from his body. His fingers painted the wall red where he touched, and leaned for support.

Sherlock's mind cataloged his damage; he knew he most likely had internal injuries. Sherlock's mind tried to distract him from the pain. However, his body would not allow it.

Every step was torturous and he grunted with the effort. Sweat poured down his body and face. None of that mattered. Sherlock had to keep moving, it was a purely logical fact.

That logic however did nothing to comfort or encourage him.

Sherlock felt like he walked forever.

He cleared the narrow hall. He came to a more open area. As Sherlock continued, he passed **his room**. He did not look in.

He finally came to the open area of the factory. A mixture of petrol, oil, dirt, and mold filled his lungs.

A long metal rail, and cement staircases were in front of him.

His lower abdomen and legs burned. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest.

Sherlock, reaching the rail, stopped to lean on the rail and catch his breath before he attempted to walk down. However, his legs were jelly and his bloodied hands slippery.

He slid down several stairs crashing his hip into the concrete stairs. Sherlock slid and flipped slightly. He landed on his side. He thought he heard a crack. He laid there briefly concentrating on breathing as the world swam in and out of focus. The pain was blinding.

Sherlock attempted to get up but heard screaming. It was a long, deep, and broken animal like sound; which seemed to pierce the air and shake the silence.

It took Sherlock a few seconds before he realized it was coming from himself. Unlike when he was being tortured, he did not hold it back.

The world continued to go in and out.

Despair swallowed Sherlock up then. It held him tightly and would not let go.

Sherlock rested his head on his folded arms. "Get up, move," he whispered to himself breathlessly.

He raised himself to his feet, growling through the pain. His legs were shaking from the effort. They continued to shake once upright.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, waited a few seconds for his vision to clear, and slowly step by step made his way down the remainder of the stairs. A mixture of fear and hope was propelling him on.

"People will die if you die here; move." He took one-step at a time, whispering to himself, to encourage himself.

If someone told Sherlock two weeks ago that talking to yourself would encourage you, he would have thought it foolish; but now the foolish was all he had and he embraced it.

A tear rolled down his face; he wiped at it and stared at his wet fingers as though the wetness was some strange thing.

More tears joined. He ignored them and let them fall.

"You're almost there." He moved forward, favoring one leg now.

Breathing heavily, Sherlock said his brother's name, "Mycroft," he whispered moving forward.

"John," he whispered, one hand coming up to the door. He leaned heavily on it catching his breath. He saw the last rays of light disappearing as the sun set, through the dirty windows. Sherlock pushed using his full body weight on the door.

Sherlock stumbled outside as he almost lost his balance.

By the time he stumbled out the door, the sun was completely set. He had made it to the outside. He smelled the air, and the water. Sherlock half-sat, half fell; leaning heavily on one hand. His body met the ground as he collapsed.


	63. Chapter 59

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 59

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy.

As promised **LadyRavena,** here is two for you, 59 and 60.

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong>WARNING:<strong> **Mature themes**

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>If you're going through hell, keep going." <em>**~Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deleted Memories of Abduction<em>**

For the first time, Sherlock considered if maybe not telling Mycroft he was alive was a mistake. Mycroft had found him the few times he had managed to get himself into a situation like this.

Mycroft would not look. He had fooled Mycroft thoroughly.

Despite his claims of logical motives, anger and disappointment had influenced his decision. Despite their bickering, he had always trusted Mycroft so his betrayal had hurt.

In his precarious situation, Sherlock told himself there was no point in further denial of the truth.

There were spasms of pain throughout his body. His body convulsed on the ground. He ground his teeth together and groaned. Sherlock's breathing was irregular as he rode through the pain.

Sherlock waited for someone to find him, for the terrorist to return, or death to claim him; for whatever was going to happen to happen.

He surprised himself now by thinking of very human mundane things. The people he cared about.

He could admit he cared about them now, could he not? He was dying after all.

He thought of Mrs. Hudson, and of Mycroft. Mycroft back when they shared secrets and confidence. Sherlock hated the thought of Mycroft being truly alone.

More than anyone, he thought of John, his one true friend.

Sherlock never thought he was the kind of man to have friends, much less a best mate, an ally.

He had once thought these things dull. Now, the dull was all that occupied his mind.

Sherlock eyes grew heavy, he forgot to hold his side, his blood stained hands fell away. His eyes slowly closed.

He thought of John again. His eye fluttered open. He had to stay alive, John would be cross if he died.

Sherlock thought he heard running. The terrorist had returned. Sherlock saw no point in fighting to stay awake anymore. They could kill him just as easily unconscious as conscious.

Sherlock stop fighting against the pull of darkness.

Sherlock felt someone touching him; Ayyad's men had returned Sherlock's foggy mind concluded. He moaned and tried to turn away even while he knew his efforts were pointless.

Strong hands held him in place.

"Wow mate, take it easy."

Sherlock blinked rapidly trying to orient himself. "Mmm….John?"

Everything faded to black.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note:<strong> The end of this chapter, 59 refers back to the event in chapter 4.

Let me know what you think. It makes me smile. **Lots of Love **to all.


	64. Chapter 60

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 60

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to <em>review, comment, and favorite.<em>

**Author's note:**

**LePetitErik, Mitaya, Ms. Chaos,** and everyone who asked why Sherlock was so traumatized. Previous chapters, 46-59

A few requests will be answered in upcoming chapters.

Finally, yes some changes were made to the previous chapters. Two chapters were turned around to ensure everything was correct and flowed well, thanks for noticing. Keep the comments and PM coming, Zacha.

LoL

* * *

><p><strong>"<em>Light overcomes darkness, darkness must flee even in the presence of the smallest of light."<em>**_ ~Zacha_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Trapped in Mind Palace<em>**

Sherlock awakened from the memories to find himself trapped in his mind. His castle, once a place of retreat was now a prison.

Sherlock was in a cold dark place. He shook as he curled into a ball on the damp floor.

He was still shaking from the once deleted memories.

The darkness was ominous. Only a dim circle of light protected Sherlock from it. He briefly thought he heard a voice calling him, but the sound floated away like a leaf in the wind.

The darkness had a soul. It tormented him. Not touching but threatening him. The light, although dim, kept it away. The light always overcame the darkness. The darkness had no choice, but to retreat in its presence.

Again, in the corner just beyond the swirling darkness he heard it, the soft whimper of a child.

"Who are you?" Sherlock whispered.

With one hand, Sherlock pushed himself off the floor, his own terror put aside momentarily.

"Why are you crying?"

Sherlock stumbled to his feet. His movement was slowed by fear, but only slowed. That same stubborn determination and obstinate spirit he had since a child kept him moving.

To Sherlock, determination had always been a more strong force than fear.

He reached the edge of the darkness to where he last heard the whimper. Shaking he reached in and grappled until he touched the shaking hand of a child. The darkness touched, then tickled, finally stabbed at his hands. Still, Sherlock never let go, but pulled.

Suddenly a faint voice called out his name. It sounded soft and far away like a whisper on the wind. The darkness weakened its grip and Sherlock pulled the child out to himself, stumbling slightly.

Sherlock had a look of shock on his face.

As he looked down, Sherlock looked to find his blue gray eyes staring into the blue gray eyes of a thin, pale-skinned boy of seven who had the darkest, curliest hair.

Only now, he was no longer crying but the faintest of smiles was on his face.

The child Sherlock morphed into an adult Sherlock. Then his doppelganger looked at him, and in that moment, stepped into him. The two identical Sherlocks converged, becoming one form, one man.

Sherlock stood in the palace of his mind finally whole again, and complete.

Sherlock understood.

The voice called again stronger now.

The darkness retreated more.

Sherlock saw it, the staircase he had descended to get down.

Sherlock quickly moved toward both the staircase and the voice.

Sherlock gained both speed and strength as he ascended following the voice. It both pulled him forward and tethered him to reality.

As Sherlock took a step through a door, the brightest light assaulted him. Sherlock's shoes tapped on the familiar marble hall. He now recognized whom the voice was from. It was Mycroft's voice.

Sherlock followed it.


	65. Chapter 61

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 61

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

Author's note: Time to say thank you.

Thanks to; **LadyRavena**, **LePetitErik**, **supernaturalmad**, **eohippus**, **the ticking clock**, and **Mitaya**, who have posted within the last few days. You encourage me to no end.

Burning Phoenix , briongloid fiodoir, Sky Writes, Ms. Chaos, The Labyrinths Scribe, you are awesome.

Ju Lara, Servant05, HoWi, stardotbrite, Altairra, ChelGallifreya221B613, klester1987, AJ Elfhawk, haveacreamteaonme, Thanks you your kind words.

waterbaby84, Lehiba, and Nos, thanks you for your comments.

Voldemort101 and brit14 for your encouraging words, recent posts, and for being my eyes and pointing out typos.

Thank you LePetitErik for going over the last few chapters to make sure every comma was in the right place, you're amazing!

**Thanks for the conversations. It makes writing more interesting.**

Lots of Love to you all.

Lastly, thanks as well to those who comment or PM me. I try to respond to all.

**There was a request made that was written into this chapter for one of you. I will not say more so that I will not give anything away. You know who you are:)

* * *

><p><strong>WARNING:<strong> **Mature themes**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"You don't throw away a whole life because it's banged up a little." ~<em>**Anonymous

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Sherlock blinked and tried to orient himself.

He was in 221B, on the couch. He looked around and saw John and Mycroft talking to him. His brain felt a little mottled, he had to take a minute to focus and clear away the cobwebs.

"… Sherlock, I said are you ok?" John looked at him now with alarmed eyes. He is waiting for an answer Sherlock realized.

"I'm fine John." The familiar response made John ridiculously happy and he grinned from ear to ear.

"You're certainly easy to please." Instead of getting offended, John's smile became wider.

"Now there's the sarcastic bastard that we all know and love," John responded.

He noticed Mycroft was very quiet with a troubled look on his face. John followed Sherlock's gaze, as he looked Mycroft up and down. He took in the paleness of Mycroft's features. His hair was disheveled. His sleeves rolled up; two cups were by his chair, and one bottle of water. Sherlock deduced that he had been absent a lot longer than one hour.

John continued to look at Mycroft. A somber expression replaced the smile on his face.

John spoke. "He wouldn't give up. Mycroft spoke to you the whole time. Five was it, no six hours straight. His only break was to take sips of water or tea."

Sherlock looked in his brother's eyes, and saw a raw pain that Mycroft did not even try to cover. Pain filled Sherlock at the sight.

"Sorry." Sherlock did not realize it was said out loud at first.

Sherlock cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving Mycroft's, and asked, "John, can I have some tea?"

John looked from Mycroft to Sherlock to the pot of tea on the table before saying, "Um… sure, give me a sec."

John walked off toward the kitchen giving the brothers their privacy. John decided he would be slow about making the tea.

"Well, you certainly do have a flare for the dramatic," Mycroft said as something unidentified crossed his face.

His voice was rough from overuse. Mycroft took a few gulps of water and put the bottle on the floor next to the chair, and then looked back at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned, and then looked at Mycroft with questioning eyes.

Mycroft answered Sherlock's unasked question.

"You were unresponsive for six hours twenty-five minutes. Would you like me to tell you how many second because I know," Mycroft's voice broke at the end, which he quickly covered by clearing his throat.

Sherlock was still and quiet for several minutes. He was slightly overwhelmed by the entire process and experiences.

Sherlock swallowed hard and turned to stare at the wall without saying a word.

Occasional shudders rolled through his body.

Mycroft kept his eyes on Sherlock and patiently waited for him, with him.

Sherlock remembered everything clearly now, not just bits and pieces or flashes of memories, but everything deleted.

Sherlock concentrated on regulating his breathing.

Finally, Sherlock spoke. He looked in Mycroft's direction but not directly at him.

"Over six hours Mycroft. We both know after the first ninety minutes, the chances of me _recovering _are very...unlikely. Duty may have made you attempt to breakthrough for half an hour more… maybe."

After a brief pause and several breaths, he shifted his gaze to his hands.

"I dare say if I had not… _awakened,_ you would still be here talking, trying to reach me no matter how long." Sherlock ventured a look at Mycroft.

"Careful Mycroft, that's dangerously close to sentimental," Sherlock said.

"Well, no need to insult me," Mycroft retorted raising an eyebrow.

"It was not an insult Mycroft…, at least not this time, just a conclusion based on observation," Sherlock stated then smiled sadly.

Sherlock continued, "I know this because, I would never have given up on you either Mycroft."

Mycroft looked back confirming his brother's observations wordlessly.

"For people that say we abhor sentiment and dislike open displays of emotions; we certainly seem to trip over them quite often do we not brother? Are you still sure that caring is not an advantage, Mycroft?"

Sherlock brushed at some imaginary lint on his trouser legs, not quite looking at Mycroft.

"Indeed," Mycroft whispered.

"I think I've had enough tea," Mycroft left going to the bathroom to relieve himself. His driver was outside the flat.

"Well, I'll be off Lock," Mycroft stopped and looked Sherlock in the eyes.

Sherlock realized that Mycroft did not notice that he had called him by his childhood name, "Lock".

Sherlock deduced that Mycroft must really have been shaken although, Mycroft was not the kind of man who was easily moved.

Mycroft paused.

"Sherlock you mumbled during the first hour, you spoke out loud. It was as if you were reliving the memories, and we were your witnesses. That was the plan, still; I'm sorry."

Mycroft, sighed, "We'll talk tomorrow… or the next day… or the next, whenever you're ready Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere. Sherlock, I will be there when you're ready. John and I have heard enough to know that you need to talk, and we need to listen."

"You do know that I care for you, and I'll be there if ever you should need me, don't you?" Mycroft waited for an answer.

"Yes, I know Mycroft," Sherlock responded, "I've always known."

Mycroft blinked back tears and tried to recover quickly.

"Well you're not a complete moron then," he said standing while retrieving his umbrella and coat. He did not bother to put his jacket on but instead carried it in his hand.

"Not completely," Sherlock said with a small smirk. This confession both surprised and amused Mycroft to no end.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow while smiling, a real smile, then continued to prepare to leave.

When Mycroft had made a quick phone call and assured himself that he had everything needed, he walked to the door, then paused looking over his shoulders at Sherlock and said, "Talk to him Sherlock."

Mycroft nodded then disappeared down the stairs.


	66. Chapter 62

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 62

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

Mature themes**, **thanks.

* * *

><p>"<strong>It is sweet to let the mind unbend on occasion<strong>." ~Horace

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present day<em>**

Sherlock heard John's steps behind his back as John walked from the kitchen back to the sitting room.

"You heard everything," Sherlock commented. It was not a question.

"Most I think, sorry I wasn't trying to hear." John replied honestly.

Sherlock shuddered slightly as he swallowed hard, "John…," Sherlock looked at John and bit his lips.

"One minute." John interrupted and walked away, he returned with two fresh cups of tea. He sat opposites Sherlock and waited.

Sherlock brushed imaginary lint from his pant leg again, "How does one do this. I could start with a chronological sequel of events, or perhaps the least to most traumatic events would be better…"

John interrupted.

"Sherlock, just… speak from your heart, and don't say something asinine like you don't have one, it's too late, I know you do." John took another sip of his tea before saying, "Let's try again shall we."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow then nodded. He looked John in the eyes, smiling sadly as a tear escape.

Sherlock took a deep breath and began.

"Toward the end John I was terrified, of course I didn't show it. We both know the only thing as immense as my massive intellect is my pride." Sherlock smile faded now. "I would be deposited back in my _room_ at the end of my… _talks_ every day, with the exception of a three day period."

"Someone came up with the inspired thought that three days of round the clock tortured was a good idea. At some point they miscalculated, my heart stopped. They had to resuscitate me, serves them right." Sherlock smirked briefly.

"They were afraid their boss Ayyad would find out that they nearly killed me without the information he required. They were so terrified they threw me back in my _room,_ and left me alone for three days."

"Relatively."

"I did have a daily visitor but just a little knocking about."

Sherlock paused briefly.

"Did I tell you I drowned John? There was a female scientist there, who made me her pet. She thought of different imaginative ways to bring one close to death without going pass the line. Well, she did cross the line once, but that's another conversation. She was effective in the ways of torturing a man. Some were complicated and involved instruments. Some were quite simple."

"John, there was a square cement pool with a drain. The water at least was pleasantly warm. I was almost always handcuffed. They'd learned that it was not wise to let me have my hands free. This time they chained my feet as well. It really wasn't that deep, just six feet or so…"

Sherlock's breathing increased as he swallowed and closed his eyes while trying to remember to breathe. In and out, Sherlock thought. How hard can it be to just breathe? Sherlock after a few minutes regulated his breathing.

Sherlock heard John asking him if he was all right, relative term he thought. Sherlock nodded and after a moment continued.

"When I was thrown into the water, they did not interfere. I am a relatively tall person. I thought that if I could somehow manage to get my feet under me, despite having my hands handcuffed behind me, and my feet shackled; I would be able to push my head above the water. I was already weak from blood loss, being electrocuted, and torture in very imaginative ways for days so the point was; I was weak, very weak."

Sherlock paused.

Keep talking; keep breathing, Sherlock reminded himself. He began again.

"At first I managed to somehow maneuver the cuffs and chains so that I could push my body up. However, after about an hour with no rest I could not do it any longer, I drowned. They pumped the water out of my lungs, and waited for me to become conscious. They then carried me to the top of the _pool_ and threw me in again. Simple but quite clever."

Sherlock closed his eyes and regulated his breathing again. Just breathe, he thought. Why is it so hard to breathe?

Sherlock began again, his breathing was slow but so deep, it was audible.

Sherlock spoke.

"Another notable event was the joyful day I was left alone with my guard for a substantial length of time. He… _approached_ me. I had a feeling he was acting without orders. It started as usual, just a little knocking about, at least at first."

"Then things changed; the other guards were called off somewhere…" Sherlock look away and shuddered he seemed lost for a moment.

"Sherlock," John began but had to take a breath and swallowed bile before trying again.

"Sherlock, is that when he…"

Sherlock was still for a moment. He swallowed. His breathing the only sound in the room.

Sherlock took a deep breath and then answered quietly. "Not at that time."

John was aware of the implications of Sherlock's statement.

Both men noticed John did not ask _if_ but instead said _when_.

John had discretely taken care of Sherlock the first week, he was a doctor, and he was his friend. His suspicions were now confirmed as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. There was somehow an instant unspoken agreement between the two men to _stop pretending_.

Sherlock after a moment of silence spoke.

"The first time I was left alone with him, let's just say I came as close as a person can come without…when he was about to… well... Novák, that was his name, made a mistake and loosen his grip enough that I was able to head butt him. He of course was not amused. When he picked me up to slam me on the wall. I managed to kick him in the groin, hard. Let us just say that certain body parts were useless for days and he had a distinctive limp. Of course, he beat me into unconsciousness. Hard to defend oneself handcuffed."

John looked horrified but did not say a word only looked in Sherlock's eyes offering support.

Sherlock looked at John now.

"I had a concussion. He was reprimanded. They could not risk brain damage when they needed my brain for information. Unconsciousness was the lesser of two evils." Sherlock shrugged.

"My two most bothersome memories invoked the same guard, Novák the day of my escape and the same female scientist the last day we were together. John, she was actually quite brilliant yet quite mad. She said she hurt me because she was in love with me, John."

"I've always told you that love was the most dangerous of emotions," Sherlock half smiled and tried to joke. He tried.

Sherlock turned away having long ago stopped trying to control his emotions. Sherlock turned to the wall a tear silently escaped pass closed eyelids as waves of shudders rolled through his body. His audible breathing was still heard in the room.

John put his tea down and did not try to fight the tears that escaped out of his own eyes. He hesitated for only a moment before he moved from the chair opposite Sherlock, and seated himself in the chair right next to Sherlock, the one Mycroft had occupied moments earlier.

John slowly put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock flinched briefly then relaxed realizing that it was only John.

John had no intention despite the flinch of letting go of Sherlock's shoulder.

John knew from personal experience that a simple touch could be very useful and give strength when one was trying to fight ones personal demons.

A touch seems to remind us that we are not alone.

Sherlock's voice was low but determined in its strength. John's sentimental gesture was appreciated and strangely comforting. Sherlock cleared his throat and began again, speaking the first of many words, for what would be a long, but healing night.

"John you were right… the devil does exist…, and she wears Prada…."


	67. Chapter 63

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 63

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p>*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.<p>

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Evil does not crawl slowly it walks quickly."<em>** ~Freeman

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present day<em>**

The soldier walked quickly. He was relieved for the day and was told to report directly to Ayyad. Almost no one but the top men reported to him directly. The soldier rarely felt fear but Ayyad's reputation demanded respect.

The rhythmic tapping of his shoes on the concrete floor of the warehouse seemed to echo throughout the opened space. He came to a smaller room and paused briefly outside. His hand paused on the knob then he took a breath before opening the door, and walking in. He projected more confidence than he felt. Several people were in the room including his direct superior.

There was a chair in the middle of the room. The soldier looked around and purposely made his face blank as he walked into the room. Sweat ran down his back and his heart rate picked up. However, no one looking at him would be able to tell. Ayyad, at first glance did not appear intimidating, but the solder's fear came from his reputation. He looked like a well-dressed, middle-aged businessman, except when one looked into the eyes.

In the eyes, there was nothing human staring back. It was almost as if evil found its form.

"Mr. Veselý, please be seated." Ayyad commanded.

The soldier obeyed and sat in the chair.

Ayyad inhaled his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs then exhaled in the soldier's face. "You were given a simple but critical assignment. You were to bring Mr. Holmes to me alive; I never finished having a talk with him you see. The man is injured, I was there, I know. How much trouble can one injured, broken little man be? I only required discretion. I have other _projects_ that have already been interfered with because of your failure. I normally do not interfere with my generals but I am forced to, you see."

Ayyad moved away from him and walked over to his direct superior, Procházka. He looked curiously at the soldier's superior. Before turning back to the soldier and speaking again.

"I am not pleased Mr. Veselý, I am not pleased." Ayyad took out a gun, held it in one hand while taking another drag of the cigarette with the other. After the cigarette was returned to Ayyad's mouth, he screwed in an attachment on the gun, which would muffle the sound when a bullet was shot.

The soldier swallowed hard but remained perfectly still. If this were to be his end, he would not beg or scream.

Ayyad motion to the soldier's superior, then spoke.

"I need you over here; can you come here for a moment please, Mr. Procházka?"

"So," Thought the soldier, "I am to be shot by the very man that I fought side by side with. Maybe it was more honorable than a stranger." The soldier watched as his superior advance on him and prepared himself.

The soldier superior was right in front of Ayyad now.

Procházka looked grim as he asked Ayyad for further instructions. "Yes sir what would you have me to do?" he asked Ayyad.

"Die," Ayyad, said simply.

Muffled sounds were heard as three shots were fired in rapid succession.

The soldier felt droplets and matter spray on his face. His heart was pounding out of his chest, his breathing rapid. Yet, he remained in place.

Procházka lay dead on the floor with half his face gone.

Everyone in the room remained both quiet and still.

"Mr. Veselý, I wanted to personally express the important of you bringing Holmes to me, discreetly of course. By the way, you no longer work alone."

"Think of this as an opportunity Veselý, Remember, no one sees my face and lives except a chosen few. This can either be your promotion or…" Ayyad let the soldier draw this own conclusion.

Ayyad walked out but threw over his shoulders, "Remember, I liked Procházka, that's why I killed him quickly. If you fail again, you I will not like so much. You may go." Ayyad walked out along with the other generals.

The solder sat there for only a moment before shooting out of his chair. He walked so quickly he was almost jogging.

The soldier was afraid, and angry, and very, very motivated.

All of his frustrations were directed at a one very bothersome, Sherlock Holmes.


	68. Chapter 64

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 64

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts<em>**." ~ Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><strong><em>The Next Morning at 6 AM <em>**

**_Present Day_**

He sighed as he woke.

He was usually up instantly, but today he allowed himself a moment of quiet. Sherlock stared at the ceiling and blinked away the last of the morning fog. He stared at the clock, seven… late for him.

He noticed a blanket was draped over him; "John," he thought.

He was still in his dress trouser and dress shirt from the previous day.

John would normally enter the kitchen in ten minutes; however, they had both gone to sleep only two hours earlier.

He had actually slept and did not remember having a nightmare; Sherlock noted with relief.

He knew Lestrade, and Mycroft's men would most likely be there within the hour.

Sherlock sighed. He knew he had to bite the proverbial bullet.

Sherlock stilled himself as he took a breath, closed his eyes, and then retreated into his mind.

For fifteen minutes, he looked as if he was asleep but was not. Closing his eyes was never necessary of course, but he preferred it since it helped him to not be distracted.

Sherlock's eyes rolled under close eyelids. There were occasional hand movements that were so subtle that they barely registered. Sherlock's eyes flew open and he smiled. His mind palace was fully repaired. His smile quickly faded as his eye became impossibly wide.

Sherlock grunted as he jumped up too quickly. He practically ran to his jacket and pulled out his phone.

Sherlock impatiently combed his tangled curls with one hand while holding his phone in the other. He flattened his lips into a straight line.

He was relieved that Mycroft answered on the second ring.

"How quickly can you have your men ready, Mycroft...? (Pause)… no Mycroft I mean the task force."

* * *

><p>John yawned as he stretched in bed. He looked at the clock frowning. "Nine thirteen?" He frowned again. He normally did not sleep this late, but excused himself. Last night had been a rather unusual night. Sherlock had talked for hours with emotions flowing on both their ends. John wondered if Sherlock was up. Sherlock was an even earlier riser than John was; however in John's mind it would be understandable if he were still asleep.<p>

John put on his robe and trudged toward the kitchen to both check on Sherlock and put on coffee.

John heard muffled sounds from the living room as he drew closer to the kitchen. "Must be Lestrade," John said to himself.

When he reached the hallway, he noticed seven people along with Lestrade, and Dovavan. Four were Mycroft's men; the other three were unfamiliar to him.

They all seem to be talking in a low and whispered tone. Most looked up briefly then returned quickly to their work, with one exception. The volume of noise suddenly increased greatly. It was as if someone turned up the volume on a radio dial.

Mrs. Hudson saw John and gave his arm a squeeze. "Teacakes on the table love. Don't worry, he ate." She whispered; then she disappeared down the stairs.

John frowned in confusion as Lestrade handed John a cup of coffee.

"Figuring you'd need a cuppa." Lestrade handed him the hot beverage.

John smiled as he gratefully took a sip. He looked at Sherlock who had not only showered, but also changed and was going through files, and photos. His only acknowledgement that John was in the room was a quick glance. John recognized that Sherlock was on the trail of something.

"Sherlock threatened to `throw a wobbly' if anyone made a sound above a whisper until at least nine," Lestrade explained.

"Oh," John looked both surprised and amused, "That explains a lot." John looked down at himself realizing for the first time what he must look like. "Give me twenty minutes to shower and change."

Lestrade put his hand on John's arm to gain his attention. He took a breath before speaking. "John, Sherlock thinks he knows where Katie Green is being kept."

Relief and fear warred for dominance in John mind. Finally John spoke. "I'll make it ten minutes."

John walked away quickly toward his room.

* * *

><p>**The <strong>throw a wobbly<strong> means to lose one's temper. **


	69. Chapter 65

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 65

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>Author's note:<p>

Special thanks to those who commented on the last few chapters**; **

**briongloid fiodoir,Princessangelwings, LadyRavena, LePetitErik, **

**Ju Lara, supernaturalmad, eohippus, the tickingclock, Voldemort101 ,**

**Mitaya, NyteKit, and Esstell** .

_A thousand thank you and Lots of Love (LoL)._

Zacha

Here we go…

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains," he<em>** **_remarked with a smile. "It's a very bad_**

**_definition, but it does apply_** **_to _****_detective work."_** ~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

><p><strong><em>Evening <em>**

**_Present Day_**

At the cottage, everyone was hidden yards away. Sherlock was quiet with his eyes closed, searching his mind. John stood beside him with a worried expression. There were a thousand ways for this to go wrong, John thought.

The agent in charge spread the word quietly that it was time to prepare to move in.

The group consisted of several Scotland Yard officers, four of Mycroft's men, and several MI agents. There was a MI agent in charge of the entire operation named Smith. He was very experienced but had a reputation for arrogance.

After talking to a member of the group, Smith was about to give the signal to go in.

Sherlock's eyes flew open. He had an alarmed look on his face. Before John could ask a question, Sherlock ran, while staying low to the ground. He ran toward Lestrade and the MI agent who was in charge. Sherlock got behind the barrier with John on his heels.

Sherlock spoke without introduction.

"There are small explosive traps in the entrance and on the grounds leading up to the entrance. I suggest that you…" Sherlock was interrupted.

"We do this for a living Mr. Holmes; we've already done a preliminary scan of the area. Why don't you sit back and relax mate." Smith said in a condescending tone.

"Arrogant prick," Smith said to himself as he turned.

Mycroft's top man Thomas, sensing something was wrong, bent low and made his way to the group to see what the issue was. Thomas's intention was to support Holmes.

Simultaneously, Lestrade opened his mouth to tell Smith to hear out Sherlock.

Simultaneously, John thought to himself, "Here we go again." and stepped forward.

Their intentions to support Sherlock were unnecessary.

Sherlock glanced Smith up and down moving his eyes only. His eyes narrowed.

He pulled himself to his full height and invaded Smith's personal space. Smith frowned and took a step back but Sherlock advanced the step.

"Had a fight with your special friend this morning, feeling less than manly today are we? So, you're determined to let everyone here know that you're in charge and capable. That explains but does not justify your incompetence and complete disregard for protocol."

Sherlock now smiled condescendingly.

"You're right, I am an arrogant prick, but a correct arrogant prick you asinine, small minded, imbecile."

Sherlock looked Smith in the eyes.

"How do you think your boss or the media will react to the death of a little girl with us so close to a rescue?"

Smith frowned and opened his mouth to ask a question but never got the chance.

Sherlock anticipated his question.

"Yes I said the explosives were small and could not possibly bring a house down, if fact it would kill probably only two to three men. That was never the point you moron, it was to disorient us long enough for them to reach the child and follow orders to kill her."

"This particular terrorist keeps his word, trust me I know."

John smirked but did not say a word. Everyone else looked uncomfortable.

Sherlock did not move an inch but stayed in Smith's personal space, making him uncomfortable.

Smith attempted to open his mouth but looked at Sherlock first.

Sherlock nodded slightly.

Smith cleared his throat and asked, "And you would suggest, Mr. Holmes?"

"As I was about to say before I was interrupted, go… in… the… back… way. By the way, these are the kind that you should be prepared to… what is the saying, oh yes… _shoot first ask questions later_."


	70. Chapter 66

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 66

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains," he<em>****_re marked with a smile. "It's a very bad_**

**_definition, but it does apply _****_to detective work."_** ~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

><p><strong><em>Evening <em>**

**_Present Day_**

Forty minutes later, the gunshots and smoke cleared.

The house was searched up and down with no child found. John was busy with three people who were injured. Two were terrorists that were bleeding to death and one was an agent. The rest of the terrorists were killed, five total. It was assumed that the rest of Ayyad's men were in another location.

The wails of approaching ambulances were heard in the background.

One agent was down; John was now busy with the downed agent while directing two other men in the care of the terrorists.

Sherlock was off by himself sitting quietly in a chair, with his hands tip-to-tip under his chin.

Sherlock heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind.

"Well… where the child?" Smith asked angrily, "That big mouth of yours, and **you were wrong**!"

"Take it easy," Lestrade said as he got into Smith's face, while positioning his body between Smith and Sherlock.

Smith looked at Lestrade then Sherlock, grunted and walked away cursing both Sherlock and himself.

Sherlock was sitting on a chair with his fingertips together thinking.

Lestrade walked over and put one of his hands on the chair next to Sherlock.

"Any ideas Sherlock?" Lestrade asked gently. "Was she moved?"

"She's here Lestrade," Sherlock said barely above a whisper, frowning.

"Sherlock unless she's invisible…" Lestrade said.

"What did you say?" Sherlock sat forward suddenly.

"Um, I only said unless she invisible…" Lestrade answered confused.

Sherlock jumped up grunting slightly, and started to search and knock on the walls. "Find out how long it would take the bomb in the front to explode, once detonated. Now Lestrade, help me!"

Lestrade ran off to ask one of the agents.

In the meantime, Thomas and his agents sensing what Sherlock was doing; rushed to help immediately. Lestrade's men and Donovan joined. They all started pacing and looking around the room for anything that looked out of place. Anything that would reveal a hidden handle or button that could be pulled or pushed.

Lestrade came back a few minutes later. "Three seconds, Sherlock."

"And, they were found in the back room, most of their equipment was there, correct?"

Lestrade nodded as understanding came to him.

Sherlock rushed off to the dining room. He was still and looked around moving his head and eyes only. Donovan, Lestrade, Smith, and two other agents followed. The rest continued their search in other rooms.

Sherlock eye fell on a rug, under a table. Sherlock tilted his head and frowned.

He grimaces as he suddenly pulled away the table and pulled up the rug. Lestrade without questioning attempted to help.

Once the rug was pulled away, a cellar door was revealed.

Sherlock stood back then and let Lestrade, Donovan and the other officers and agents take over.

Steep stairs lead to a musty smelling underground room with a bed and a dim light on the table.

Sherlock watched them descend the stair. He looked down. The moldy smell combined with the dim light, and the closed space of the room triggered a memory.

He regulated his breathing, closing his eyes briefly. It was not his usual attacks but Sherlock still felt terror crawling in his belly, biting and scratching his soul. Blinking rapidly, he took a step back from the door, and leaned with one hand on the table.

That was when Sherlock heard it. A child's voice in protest. Someone had untied and un-gagged her.

Instead of whimpering, this child was screaming and angry.

The pull of that child's distress was at that moment stronger than the fear Sherlock felt.

Sherlock swallowed hard, he took a few second to regulate his breathing. It was still coming quickly but better. He then opened his eyes and put his mask in place. Still shaking slightly, he slowly made his way down the steps.


	71. Chapter 67

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 67

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains," he <em>****_remarked with a smile. "It's a very bad_**

**_definition, but it does apply _****_to detective work."_** ~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

><p><strong><em>Evening <em>**

**_Present Day_**

Donovan and one of the officers were trying to pick up the child and carry her to the trolley in the waiting ambulance.

Little Katie did not want to be moved and was screaming angrily at the officers.

One officer decided enough talking was done and was about to force her up.

She screamed and swung wildly, hitting the officer with her fist.

"Stop… Now!" Sherlock said in a low voice with a dangerous look in his eyes.

Sherlock took a few breaths and swallowed. He lowered his voice and tried to plaster a smile he did not feel on his face.

"Leave her alone," Sherlock said slowly and clearly. "Please," he added gently.

Everyone was suddenly quiet including Little Katie. All eyes were on Sherlock.

Sherlock studied her for a moment, curiously.

Sherlock very slowly approached the bed, "May I," he asked for permission to sit on the bed.

The child nodded looking warily at Sherlock.

"I'm Sherlock, by the way. Ms. Katie I presume."

Again, Katie nodded.

As he sat, the unmistakable pungent smell of old urine, assaulted his nose and senses. He quietly looked at her an immediately knew the problem.

"We do need to get you out of here, don't you think?"

Katie hesitated mortified, "I… I had an accident," she whispered so only Sherlock could hear, her face was flushed red with embarrassment.

Sherlock was silent for only a moment.

"It happens to the best of us," Sherlock said simply then smiled.

Sherlock stood up now, and then reached down extending his hands.

Katie studied him for a minute then a faint smile came on her face as she allowed herself to be pulled up into his arms.

Sherlock studied the child for a moment, and then asked, "No tears?"

"Well… maybe a little, but just a little." Katie seemed proud of herself.

"Finally, a woman after my own heart." Sherlock smile widened.

Katie burst out in a fit of giggles. Sherlock raised an eyebrow then chuckled back. She was not sure at first; the man had looked so serious. Now as Katie looked into his eyes, she realized that she liked him. He had kind eyes, and he was funny. He reminded her of her uncle Eddie.

Katie's smile faded. "Can you save Uncle Eddie too please?" Katie locked eyes with Sherlock.

Sherlock was rarely at a loss for words, but was at one now. He did not directly deal with children, especially without John nearby.

Sherlock looked into Katie's eyes and saw strength there. It reminded him of himself as a child. He decided gentle honestly was the best course. He was not one for lies anyway. They always seem to stick in his throat.

"Katie I will try, we'll try our very best. That, I promise you."

Katie looked at him for another few seconds then put her arms around his neck and laid her head on his chest as she stifled a yawn.

He nodded to Donovan.

"Now Katie, this nice lady will take you outside to an ambulance. They will take you to the hospital so they can look you over; your Mum will be there."

Katie eyes flew open as her arms tightened around Sherlock's neck chocking him slightly.

"Will you take me outside?" Katie asked in a whispered.

Sherlock cleared his throat slightly and dismissed the emotions.

"Well then my lady, your carriage awaits."

Katie's grip loosened as she laid her head back down on his chest and giggled. Sherlock grinned as he slowly ascended the stair ignoring all stares and any discomfort the slight exertion caused.

Sherlock decided all children were not little aliens. If he was sentimental, which he was not of course, he would even go as far as saying that he liked little Katie.

Katie yawned again.

Yes, Katie decided as she allowed her eyes to close finally feeling safe, and protected, she definitely liked the man with the funny name, Sherlock.

* * *

><p>**Stretcher is another word for trolley. **<p> 


	72. Chapter 68

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 68

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends It gives<em>**

**_a lovely light."_**~ _Edna St. Vincent Millay_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Undisclosed Location<em>**

**_Present Day_**

The room was dressed in darkness and smelled slightly odd. The air was heavy with dust and dirt. It had a metallic type of smell. Boxes and crates lined the edge of the walls on three sides.

Sweat poured from his neck and brows as he worked out equations in his head. The desk was cluttered with a large collection of papers and notebooks. The papers contained what appeared to be barely legible numbers symbols, words, and codes, apparently written in a hurried and shaking hand.

He nervously wiped the sweat from his neck and forehead with the back of his shirtsleeve. It was too hot, did they not realize that these chemicals needed to be in a dry _cool_ place, he wondered.

He nervously walked over to the guard. "I need it to be cooler in here. The chemicals need to be kept cool."

The guard seemed to not be in a hurry to assist. The guard casual looked at him with a slight nod.

Edward Green's frustration momentarily overcame his fear, as he looked into the guard's eyes.

"BOOM!" Edward said dramatically as he swept both arms quickly from the center of his body to the outside in one smooth movement.

The guard's eyes became wide as he enthusiastically nodded and pulled out a radio and spoke in Czech to someone at the other end. "Yes," the guard said simply. Satisfied that his request was being taken seriously, he put on his goggles and walked over to the hooded vent. The lab table under the lab vent had a collection of crystals, powers, and vials of different colored liquids as well as other seemingly random objects.

Edward sunk into the stool.

He took a moment to take a deep breath as the oniony smell filled his lungs. His hands were still shaking lightly. "Better stop shaking Edward or we'll all go boom," Edward joked quietly to himself with dark humor.

Edward stilled himself as he closed his eyes. He thought of his sister in law, of how much he should not love her, but did love her. He thought of his brother with some guilt. Then he thought of what he always thought of, at almost every waking moment of every day.

He thought of Katie, his Katie.

This gave him the determination to pick up the flask and poured it into the beaker.

Edward next took up the crystals and the glass rod then begun.

* * *

><p><strong>Author note<strong>: As most of you know who follow, I try to update every 24 hours, but the next update will be Wednesday, maybe before then but no promises. I will put up multiple chapters when I do post. I need to work out a few things. Thanks and **Lots of Love** to all. Zacha


	73. Chapter 69

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 69

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong>Author note:<strong> Thanks to Ju Lara and LePetitErik for commenting on the last chapter. Thanks to the ticking clock, LadyRavena, Voldemort101, CrimsonKitsune333, Sherlock and Supernatural mad for your recent comment. Cookies for all!

To everyone who reads, thanks.

To a special someone out there, I hope you were able to keep the rabbits out of your garden (Smile).

Multiple chapters as promised. Thanks and **Lots of Love,** Zacha.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends It gives<em>**

**_a lovely light."_**~ _Edna St. Vincent Millay_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

For three days the trucks came. They arrived at their destinations after three AM and would leave before six AM when the earliest of employees would arrive. Objects were moved and transferred, then positioned and hidden. Short distance radio transmitters were being installed.

These were preferred because they were virtually undetectable unless you happen to be within four yards.

In four continents around the world, this same procedure was being replicated as several scientists nervously followed instructions. Some prayed, some wished, and some hoped that this terrible act that warred against their conscious, would assure their family's safety.

The planned act of evil would earn Ayyad respect for a lifetime and finally settle who was worthy to control Moriarty's Kingdom. Nothing could go wrong; this is what they told their leader. This is what was said out loud to each other.

What was not said out loud, not to each other not even to themselves, was that they were nervous as well. Several of their plans have already been disrupted. A name seemed to always be repeated, over and over.

It was the name of a seemingly unimportant English man; who had proven to be much more trouble that anyone could have first possible anticipated.


	74. Chapter 70

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 70

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>Do what you feel in your heart to be right—for you'll be criticized anyway."<em>**

~ Eleanor Roosevelt

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

It had been eighteen grueling hours with little sleep for anyone.

Four of those hours were spent at Scotland Yard. Several larger groups were formed; each team had several MI agents, two of Mycroft's men, and anyone Scotland Yard certified in the use of handguns.

Only half of Scotland Yard detectives were certified and allowed to use weapons under special circumstances such as terrorism. The rest never carried a weapon. Donovan, Lestrade, and Anderson were certified in the use of firearms.

A massive map of London was stretched on the wall. With pins that were stuck in, to indicating several possible targeted locations. Leading the teams were, Thomas, Lestrade, Anderson, and Smith.

Sherlock acted as the consultant to the groups.

Smith, although begrudgingly, did except Sherlock's help.

All because they asked what the consulting detective considered `moronic questions'.

A makeshift police station was set up at 221B Baker Street. A few members of the team then transferred to other places. Some went home for the night.

Mycroft joined later. Sherlock believed that there were less than ten hours before the first of five bombs exploded.

The terrorist expert argued that this broke a distinctly known terrorist pattern.

Sherlock countered back that the timeframe was moved up due to the rescue of Katie Green. Sherlock further concluded that there were a series of five bombs at five different locations around the UK. He believed that they were set to explode, all on the same day.

Sherlock further stated that there were even more bombs at different locations around Europe and Asia that were set to explode within the upcoming week.

When the expert reminded everyone that he was the expert and knew more than Sherlock, Sherlock looked the expert up and down smiling falsely. Then Sherlock said something in French to the man.

Mycroft at that moment stopped speaking to Anthea and looked at Sherlock frowning.

Sherlock stopped smiling abruptly once he realized that Mycroft was glaring at him. He then cleared his throat and looked a little too innocent.

The terrorist expert was not sure if he was being complimented or insulted so he chose that moment to walk away and refresh his tea.

Mycroft walked over to John who was leaning on the wall. He turned his back to the group then said quietly so that only John could hear. "Would you control him John, you seem to be the only one who can."

John was somewhat offended.

"Mycroft, you know what Sherlock is like when the puzzle comes together. On top of that, he's tired, he has not eaten since earlier, and I can tell he's starting to hurt again. I think he's doing well."

John shrugged before adding, "Anderson was being purposefully annoying, and Smith **is **a moron. Besides, I don't speak French; he could have been saying `God bless you' for all I know."

John picked up his tea and calmly started drinking.

Mycroft just stared for several seconds in silence before speaking. "Between the two of you, is there not one adult."

John said nothing but took another sip.

Mycroft sighed, and then walked away to Sherlock.

"Sherlock may I see you for a moment. Privately." Mycroft said quietly.

Sherlock sighed, he then lead the way to his room. He walked in without saying a word. Mycroft followed and pushed the door close behind him.

Several people including Lestrade noticed the brothers leaving but everyone quickly returned their attention back to their work. All except Lestrade who gave John, _the look_. John returned _the look_ then took another sip of tea.

* * *

><p>Sherlock sat in his chair looking straight ahead. He did not offer for Mycroft to sit down. Mycroft looked at Sherlock examining him and making deductions. Sherlock realizing what Mycroft was doing, turned his head away.<p>

Mycroft eyes traveled up and down Sherlock then he frowned.

"Sherlock…" he was interrupted.

"I know what you're going to say Mycroft. Don't worry, he is dim-witted, he did not understand what I said, and I **did** smile." Sherlock said still looking away.

"Sherlock you need to be more diplomatic." Mycroft exhaled deeply then sat on the corner of Sherlock's bed.

"We both know the odds of that occurring are unlikely." Sherlock smirked.

"Sherlock, be civil with Butler please, for me." Mycroft asked.

"Oh…, is that the moron's name." Sherlock did not try to conceal the sarcasm.

"Sherlock, that's not fair he is not a moron, he's an experienced moron." Mycroft kept a straight face.

Sherlock visible relaxed and seemed to melt into the chair as he chuckled and turned to look at Mycroft for the first time.

Mycroft smiled back as he looked at his brother. His smile then left as he asked, "How are you, really?"

"Not bad." he looked at his brother and now he was the one to frown. Sherlock however, said nothing.

Mycroft looked down then up after a moment.

"Sherlock, I'll be out of the country for a few days, I've reassigned Thomas until I get back. He'll be in charge of one of my task force. "Mycroft face was unreadable.

Sherlock nodded but his eyes never left Mycroft's.

"I would ask that you would have either Lestrade or John with you at all times until I return, preferable both." Mycroft raised an eyebrow and made it clear that he was not asking.

Sherlock nodded again. His eyes were still on Mycroft.

_A moment of silence_

"Mycroft, you do not want to leave but you're still going." Mycroft made no comment back.

"Is there anything you want to tell me, Mycroft?" Sherlock tried again.

"Not at this time. We'll talk when I get back," Mycroft replied.

_Brief silence_

"Sherlock be careful if you don't mind. Eat, drink, and sleep every now and then. And do try to not drive the new agent to madness," Mycroft requested.

"No promises," Sherlock smiled.

Mycroft shook his head, and then returned the smile.

Sherlock cleared his throat before saying. "Mycroft do keep yourself out of a situation that may require running, we both know the outcome would be disastrous. In addition, try not to get yourself injured. You know how much I hate hospitals." Despite Sherlock's smile, his eyes were serious.

"I'll do my utmost," Mycroft said.

Both brothers sat in comfortable silence. Neither indicated that they were about to move. Outside the closed door and at various locations around the world and London, Mycroft's task force prepared to move at the morning's first light.


	75. Chapter 71

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 71

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>I had as many doubts as anyone else. Standing on the starting line, we're all <em>**

**_cowards." _**~ Alberto Salazar

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

The day was hectic. It was now four in the afternoon and there had been constant movement.

Sherlock, Lestrade, John, Donovan, and a MI agent named Collins were on the same team. There were also officers and several other task force members moving about. The task force members were divided and assigned to different places in England. The media were kept in the dark in an attempt to stop the terrorist from being informed that the government was aware of their plots and possible bomb locations.

Three of the bombs were safely removed already. The fourth was currently being disarmed.

Sherlock had been right.

Sherlock did not however gloat as everyone expected him to. Instead, he was very quiet and still. He left the work to the task force members. Sherlock answered questions when asked. He occasionally made suggestions or asked questions.

Something about the last site bothered Sherlock. It did not _seem right_ to him. Unlike the other locations, it had almost been a little too easy to find the explosive and it was a small amount.

The expert, Butler, had assured Sherlock and the others that the usually terrorist patterns were being followed; he had enough sense to leave Sherlock's presence when Sherlock's eyes started to narrow.

Lestrade, Donovan, Collins, and several other officers were securing the building after it was said to be _safe_. None of their equipment detected short-range radio waves. It seemed to be over.

Still, Sherlock could not get rid of the feeling that something was out of place.

All logic had to agree with Butler, but Sherlock, still was uneasy. If it were not so insulting, he would have referred to it as a `gut feeling'.

John walked up to Sherlock and stood beside him not speaking for a while.

"I thought you would be gloating and all smirks by now. What's wrong, you have _the look,_" John commented not looking at Sherlock but looking around frowning.

Sherlock took a minute before answering. "Something's out of place, Jo…"

Sherlock never finished, but frowned as his attention was drawn to a middle age businessman who had trainers on his feet. In addition, he was walking briskly toward the building.

John followed Sherlock's eyes. Without another word, John walked towards the man. He had learned to trust Sherlock's instinct long ago.

The man saw John approaching and seemed grim. He fumbled with something in his pocket.

Realization suddenly came to John as he ran full speed toward the man and John shouted a warning.

Sherlock started running on John's heel and was gaining on John the moment he saw the man fumbling in his pockets.

A shot rang out as John reached and tackled the man. Someone shouted out a cry. Several bystanders and police officers ran toward the still form on the ground.

Several more ran toward John who had punched the man unconscious.

When Sherlock reached John, the unconscious man started to come around and groan. Several officers handcuffed and detained him.

John in the meantime had run off to where a teenage girl down the street laid on the ground crying, and holding her arm as blood came out in-between her finger.

Sherlock, relieved, stood in place catching his breath. He was standing where the oddly behaved businessman had lain minutes before. Sherlock saw the businessman's phone on the ground.

A chill ran through Sherlock as he picked it up and saw a series of numbers and symbols texted. The _send _button had been hit indicating that the text had been sent.

John was busy with the young girl and did not hear the abandoned phone dropped to the ground, or see Sherlock running into the building. John heard too late the familiar voice of his roommate shouting a chilling warning.

"RUN!"

"BOMB!"


	76. Chapter 72

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 72

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>Run like hell and get the agony over with.<em>**" ~ Clarence DeMar

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Sherlock ran into the building shouting a warning as he went along. People, after a second of shock, started running out the building.

He searched but did not see Lestrade or Donovan. He saw a young officer running and grabbed him by the collar almost choking him accidentally. "Where's Lestrade?"

The young officer looked shocked and said nothing.

Sherlock shook him by the shoulders and asked again more forcefully.

"**Lestrade!"**

The young officer seemed to come to his senses, and stuttered, "D… D… Down the lower level east corner."

Sherlock nodded and let him go.

Sherlock ignored the elevator lift and ran down the stairs. He practically slammed his body through the door grimacing.

"Lestrade… **Lestrade**, answer damn it!" he heard footstep running toward him.

In Sherlock's mind, a mental clock was ticking, mocking him as it reminded him that time was against him.

Collin, Lestrade, and Donovan ran toward him.

"What the bloody hell is going on Sherlock?" Lestrade asked.

"Bomb, we have to get out." Sherlock rambled quickly.

Sherlock looked at the end of the open space, considering the stairs.

"We're not going to make it out." He was speaking aloud more to himself. Those standing close just happened to hear.

"Back way, follow me," Donovan said as she ran.

No one questioned her. Instead, four bodies ran for their lives.

* * *

><p>Two officers were what it took to restrain John and keep him from physically running into the building. He curse, threatened, and begged to be let go, but they held him tightly.<p>

Everyone had been pushed back to a safe distance.

John's struggling abruptly stopped.

He was suddenly released as bodies dropped to the ground, ran backwards, or covered their faces reflectively with their arms as a roaring sound reverberated through the air.

John did none of that, he only stared in disbelief as smoke ascended from windows. Windows that within a second had cracked then splintered outward by the utter force of rapidly moving air. Then the ground shook briefly, everyone felt it stop except John.

For John the ground was still shaking.

* * *

><p>Comments are appreciated. Lots of Love to all.<p> 


	77. Chapter 73

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 73

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Fear cannot take what you do not give it<em>**." ~Christopher Coan

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock heard coughing coming from two different points in the room. Sherlock shook himself and looked around coughing. He was covered in dust; he looked like someone took flour and shook a sack on top of his head. His lungs desperately tried to get oxygen and clear itself of dust but the more he coughed the more dust seemed to fill it. Streams of light were coming in. Donovan called out to him and Lestrade.

"Everyone ok?" Donovan asked coughing as well.

"Peachy," Sherlock replied with sarcasm.

"Yeah," Lestrade said as he tried to pick himself up. A groan escaped as he straightened up.

"Stay down Lestrade," Sherlock called out while coughing.

Lestrade found Sherlock had managed to pick his way to his side in a manner of minutes. Donovan managed to make her way through the debris and was by Lestrade's side quickly.

"What about Collins?" Lestrade asked.

Donovan simply shook her head.

Sherlock was quietly looking Lestrade over. Lestrade saw the concern in Sherlock's eyes.

"I'm ok Sherlock, just got a bit of the wind knocked outta me is all." Lestrade tried to reassure him.

Sherlock nodded once.

"Can you walk?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course I can, just need a little help up." Lestrade tried again to get up; Sherlock put his shoulder under his arms. Both men grunted as Sherlock practically lifted the Inspector up.

"We need to move," Sherlock said with some urgency, "Now," he added looking both Donovan and Lestrade in the eyes.

The dust was finally starting to settle.

"Shouldn't we wait for help, what if he injured worse than we thought?" Donovan asked, as she looked Sherlock in the eyes with concern.

"I understand that you're frightened Donovan, but we need to move… now. We cannot wait. We need to find our own way out." Sherlock looked her back in the eyes. Donovan frowned at his expression.

"Sherlock what are you not saying," Lestrade asked with growing apprehension.

Sherlock did not pause.

"Two sets of bombs, this was the smaller one. The aim is to kill as many people as possible. When emergency services or the bomb unit comes to rescue the injured; bigger boom." Lestrade said nothing but nodded and started to move forward. Donovan put her arms under Lestrade's shoulder and helped.

Lestrade grunted along as they weaved their way through the rubble. Donovan was quiet and alert looking for signed of danger and loose debris. Sherlock looked as well. After what seemed like forever, they came to a brighter area.

Sirens and the wail of emergency vehicles were heard outside. There was a one-yard drop that had caved in ahead. Directly above the drop, there was a hole of sorts, what appeared to have been a blown out window. Because of the drop, the opening was now, three and a half yards above the lowest point_._ All three yelled for a moment then stopped when they realized that no one could hear.

"What now?" Donovan asked frustrated.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, " I won't look I promise." Sherlock smiled sweetly.

Donovan looked confused then looked down at her dust-covered dress. "Oh," she said.

Sherlock leaned Lestrade against a wall. Lestrade nodded to Sherlock.

Sherlock took her by the waist and said, "Sorry in advance." Donovan rolled her eyes.

In one fluid motion, he pushed her up toward the window. She grabbed on to it and pulled herself the rest of the way as he pushed her rear end.

Donovan turned around and pushed her hands through the opening.

Lestrade spoke up, "Sherlock you'll re-injure yourself; you're already grunting more, don't think I haven't noticed." Lestrade frowned.

"We have no choice Lestrade, now heave-ho," Sherlock said.

"Get help and come back," Lestrade offered.

"Not leaving you." Sherlock locked eyes with Lestrade.

Lestrade nodded and wasted no more time. He knew Sherlock's `I will not budge 'face.

Sherlock pushed the same time that Lestrade jumped as much as he could and grabbed onto the ledge.

"Lestrade, how much do you weigh," Sherlock grunted as he pushed.

"I'll have you know I've lost **nine** pounds," Lestrade grunted back as he pulled himself up. Donovan grabbed onto his shirt and pulled.

"**Five**," Sherlock countered grunting.

Sherlock suddenly fell against the wall heaving as Lestrade finally made it up and out through the opening.

"Go," he shouted to them.

"Not… leaving… you," Lestrade said in-between breaths.

"Bomb, timer, boom, remember; I'm right behind you. Lestrade you're moving slower…" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence and frowned as a blinking red light in the shadows caught his attention.

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Move," Sherlock shouted.

"We're not leaving you." Lestrade shouted back.

"Move! Now! I'm right behind." Sherlock growled.

An instant understanding occurred as Donovan helped Lestrade up. Lestrade yelled down while moving, "Move your arse Sherlock." And, they were gone.

* * *

><p>Author note: you can substitute 9 feet for the 3 yard, and 3 feet for the 1 yard.<p> 


	78. Chapter 74

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 74

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Run like hell and get the agony over with.<strong>_" ~ Clarence DeMar

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock did not have to be told twice to move.

Sherlock back up then squinted in the dim light at the floor. He looked for anything that would trip him when he ran. He ran full speed then used one leg to help propel himself up the wall. He grunted as his chest slammed into the wall. Sherlock struggled briefly as he pulled himself up.

He found himself in an alley.

He pushed himself up to his feet.

He ran.

Donovan with Lestrade leaning on her shoulder, were running the best they could. Donovan glance back almost stumbling.

"Go," Sherlock, yelled.

When Donovan saw that Sherlock was out of the building, she concentrated on running as she helped Lestrade to run. They almost reached the opening of the alleyway.

Several rescue workers saw them and ran toward them. One reached and helped Donovan with Lestrade.

Adrenaline pumped through Sherlock's body. He was gaining on the two.

His chest ached.

He ignored it.

He ran.

Since a child, Sherlock has enjoyed running. Now he ran, but not for enjoyment. The prize was not a metal or ribbon, but his life.

One of the workers ran toward Sherlock.

Sherlock waved his hand yelling, "Bomb, bomb, bomb!"

The worker almost tripped as he came to an abrupt stop and started running in the opposite direction. As the rescue worker ran, he shouted a warning.

Chaos had her day.

Shouts increased as everyone present scattered away from the building.

Sherlock was close to the opening now.

Sherlock heard a deafening rumble coming from behind him. His feet and body suddenly lifted from the ground, as He was propelled by air forward.

Something abruptly stopped his flight as the world turned black.

* * *

><p>Authors note: Because this is a cliffhanger, I agreed to do a one time update before 24 hours. (See I do listen <em>at times.<em>) Love to all. Zacha


	79. Chapter 75

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 75

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars<em>**. ~ Kahlil Gibran

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

The ground trembled as a deafening thunder pierced the air. The building collapsed in and on itself, as bellows of gray and black smoke rose. The smoke increased in size and speed as it broke away from the building.

At the same time, the north- east corner of the building disintegrated downward as clouds of soot, wreckage, and smoke followed close behind. Gray clouds of smoke crashed to the ground then expanded outward.

Other loud crashes were heard as debris rain on the ground.

The crowd that had gathered was already running because of the shouted warnings. They scatter more now as they ran ducking into building, doorways, behind cars, and around corners.

As the smoke cleared John was on his feet looking around. He spotted Lestrade on the ground motioning with his hands toward an alley. He then spotted Donovan and two other people running toward an alley behind the exploded building. What John did not see was Sherlock.

John's heart sank as he ran in the same general direction unsure of what he would find. The wails of ambulances were heard in the background.

As John reached the entry of the alley, he saw a motionless Sherlock on the ground with emergency personnel kneeling beside him and Donovan standing over frowning.

John reached Sherlock now and knelt next to him.

"Sir we need you to back up, now," One emergency personnel said.

"I'm a doctor," John said as he hoped his voice did not betray his anxiety.

"What have we got?" John asked in his best authoritative tone.

"Um, we don't know yet we've only…" he was interrupted by a moan.

Sherlock blinked a few times and opened his eyes. He looked John over and relaxed as he realized that he was not injured in any way. Sherlock's eyes then traveled to Donovan as he seemed to look her over as well.

"Lestrade," Sherlock asked as he tried to get up.

"Sir you should really stay down, you were unconscious," one worker said.

"I'm fine," Sherlock, said as he waved hands away and used the building he was thrown against by the blast to assist in pushing himself up.

He swayed for a moment and shook his head, then grimace at the discomfort the movement caused.

"Sherlock, he's right, you should stay down," John tried to reason.

"**Lestrade**," Sherlock repeated more forcefully now.

"He's fine, he's sitting on the ground outside." Donovan spoke for the first time, "He seems okay." She added quietly, "Thanks to you."

Sherlock relaxed. He started walking with a slight limp toward the opening.


	80. Chapter76

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 76

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Everyone has his day and some days last longer <strong>__**than others."**_ ~ Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Most onlookers were kept behind the police tape. Some looked horrified others looked curious. Lestrade was in an ambulance sitting, he seemed to have recovered apart from some light bruising, scrapes, and cuts.

Sherlock stood close by and walked up limping slightly. Sherlock moved close to him. One side of an orange shock blanket had fallen off of Lestrade's shoulders. Sherlock walked up to him and pulled the blanket back onto his shoulders.

Sherlock carefully wrapped the blanket snugly around Lestrade then took a step back and studied Lestrade.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock and frowned.

"Thanks mate," he said, as he looked Sherlock over.

He supposed they must have looked like a fright. He, Donovan, and Sherlock were covered with dust from the building and their hair was sticking up and out of place. The only normal looking places on their bodies were their faces that had been wiped clean by the toilette that the emergency personnel had given them.

"Where's your blanket Sherlock and why aren't you beside me on this trolley?" Lestrade asked

A click was his only reply.

In confusion, Lestrade looked at Sherlock who held up his phone and took another picture.

`Click'

"What in sam do you think you're doing?" Lestrade asked annoyed.

`Click'

"Hum, what's the saying? Oh yes, turnaround is fair play," Sherlock said.

Sherlock moved to get a better angle, "Smile," he said.

`Click'

"Alright, alright you've had your fun," Lestrade said.

Sherlock smirked and took one last picture then put his phone back into his pocket.

John walked up to the two; he had been helping with the injuries.

"Ok Sherlock, time to go to the hospital, I'll meet you both there in a minute and…" John never finished.

"You'll meet **Lestrade** there; I'm fine I told you." Sherlock's mood dramatically changed as he glared at John.

Lestrade groaned loudly as he swayed a little. "Help me down, will you Sherlock." Lestrade started to rise up.

"What exactly do you think you're doing Lestrade," Sherlock asked with annoyance.

"Well, you're not going so why should I?" Lestrade swayed a little more.

Sherlock grunted and managed to get in the ambulance while holding his side. He attempted to push Lestrade back down on the trolley.

"We both go or help me down," Lestrade informed Sherlock.

John stood by unsure of what to say.

"You're being childish **Detective Inspector**." Sherlock stressed his title.

"All these years around you have finally rubbed off."Lestrade looked in Sherlock's eyes as a silent battle took place.

"I see," Sherlock said, "John you did say you would meet us there."

John nodded, he thought that maybe he should not say a word. Sherlock sent death stares to Lestrade when Lestrade asked if he wanted a blanket. Sherlock turned away from the door and scowled.

When Sherlock was not looking, Lestrade winked at John.

John opened and closed his mouth wordlessly; partially terrified, partially amused.

He then walked away hurriedly. John thought it wise to find the emergency personnel immediately, before Sherlock could change his mind.

* * *

><p>AN: "What in the sam…, " is an expression of mild frustration. It is the same as asking, "What is going on?" In a frustrated way.


	81. Chapter 77

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 77

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>The most dangerous man in the world is a man in love.<em>**" ~ Freeman

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day an hour earlier<em>**

**_Vienna, Austria _**

The man excited a Mercedes-Benz; he quickly moved to stand in an open area. It was fairly crowded today. It was usually busy. He took out a cigarette and thought about Austrian laws on smoking in public. These were low tar anyway. He put out the cigarette. There was no need to draw attention to himself.

The man stood on the platform of the Wien Nord-Praterstern train station. He was just north of the city. Vienna's two most recognizable structures; the Riesenrad (Ferris wheel) and the Stephansdom (cathedral) could both be seen from the platform.

He glanced at the target being careful to keep him in view and not draw attention to himself while doing so. It had been years since he had been in the field himself. This is something he normally would send his men to do but time was a consideration and he could not afford any mistakes.

This was an excellent choice; a bomb here would cause a lot a damage as well as deaths, which was the goal.

His attention turned momentarily to the Riesenrad again, he had a little time, he told himself.

His parents had taken him and his brother to the Ferris wheel when they were young. They had spent two days going in and out of the Prater amusement park while on holiday. It was one of the rare times that he could recall them being… happy. Funny, he had dismissed the memory until he saw the giant wheel.

The man did not realize that he was smiling at the memory.

His brother had laughed so hard that he went into a fit of hiccups. Afterward, on their last day, they had stopped at the museums and even the Cathedral Stephansdom. They almost looked like a normal family doing normal things together. Even father was more relaxed than he remembers him every being. The two days were good days. He could not remember when his brother had ever been… happier. Then they returned home.

The smile on the man's face faded.

He sighed and pulled a watch out of the pocket of the suit vest the he always wore. He looked at the other hand that held his umbrella.

Mycroft hoped that Sherlock was not getting into too much trouble. Sherlock was simply there as an observer and consultant, nothing hands on. What could possibly go wrong, Mycroft wondered.

He shifted on his feet, his thoughts bothering him slightly.

Nothing could go wrong he again tried to assure himself, but he thought, this was Sherlock.

Mycroft decided that he would text him in a few hours, just to assure himself. Even Sherlock could not possibly get into trouble that quickly.

The train would be arriving soon. He glanced again at his target.


	82. Chapter 78

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 78

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>The most dangerous man in the world is a man in love.<em>**" ~ Freeman

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day an hour earlier<em>**

**_Vienna, Austria _**

A nervous looking man held tightly to an object in his hand as he looked back and forth. More people had materialized on the platform. Just as well the nervous man thought. It would make blending into the crowd easier.

* * *

><p>One of Ayyad's soldiers kept an eye on his target. His assignment was to make sure that he went through with the assignment that he was given. He was to enter the train and walk within three yards of the package. At that point, Edward Green assignment would be over.<p>

The soldier smiled.

Green was a fool. His niece would die regardless of what he did. If he was not such an imbecile he would have figured that out by now, they all would have. The soldier chuckled to himself. Hope and love, they were such weak emotions. The soldier was glad that he had neither.

* * *

><p>"What's the code?" Edward whispers quietly to himself. He stilled and looked around when he realized that he had spoken out loud. He looked nervously around then signed. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him.<p>

He hoped desperately that most of these people were not getting on the train. Sweat dripped down his neck.

Green desperately wanted to shout a warning, tell the fools to run. He wondered why they did not seem to know that this was their last moments on earth. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

In the end Green would not, they knew he would not; Katie.

Green comforted himself with the fact that Katie would live.

In the end, to Green that was the priority, everything else in his mind came second. This final resolve somehow settled him. He felt numb now.

As the train approached, Edward considered the fact that he was not wealthy but he could give Katie a gift that his brother with all his wealth could not give; he could give her life.

He went over the code in this mind one last time as he stepped closer to the edge. He remembered it easily now.

The train stopped. Masses of humanity move walking, some quickly some slower. Some older some younger, singles and couples all talking in various languages. He noticed a little girl passing by and smiled at her as she waved; she seemed shy and hid her face in her mother's dress. His Katie would not have been shy.

Edward swallowed hard as the smile evaporated he stepped on the train.

He stopped as he got on. He put a long string of numbers and symbols and letters on the text screen. He was careful not to hit send, not yet at least. He carefully put the phone in his pocket. He had to get to the front of the train. He hoped a seat was available. He really needed to sit down.

As he moved, a woman bumped into him. She was carrying a bag that was much too big for her. They seem to be tangled together as she repeatedly bumped into him. She put both arms on him finally and smile and apology in a language he did not understand.

He smiled back saying, "English," then shrugged.

"Oh sorry, she said in a thick accent." She nodded and smiled one last time, and then she moved carefully to the left and squeezed past.

Edward moved to the very front of the train and discovered with surprise that two seats were empty. He collapsed into one then he glanced at his watch.

A man sat next to Edward and asked for the time in Dutch.

"English," he tried to smile an apology not quite understanding what was said. He was not quite willing to look him in the eyes. He quietly put his hands in his pocket. It was hard to concentrate again. His hand was over the send button. He had a few minutes left. "Poor bastard," Edward whispered to himself.

"Sorry Mr. Green, I suppose I could look at my own watch," Mycroft took it out, glance quickly then returned it to his pocket.

Edward looked at the man in shock, all traces of an accent were gone. He was smiling but his eyes and smile looked… dangerous.

"Mr. Edward Green, who I am is not important, what I can do for you is. We need for you to leave the train, quietly is preferable at the next stop. I need you then to cooperate and tell us every detail of what you know, particularly about the bomb triggers. Your cooperation will ensure not just your own safety but also the safety of all you love. I can also arrange for any duplicitous act on your part to be, shall we say… overlooked." Mycroft waited for an answer.

Edward head was spinning. He was not sure what to do. Could his man really be able to do everything he said? Could he take that chance?

Edward made a decision; he pushed the _send_ button on the phone in his pocket.


	83. Chapter 79

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 79

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The most dangerous man in the world is a man in love.<strong>_" ~ Freeman

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day an hour earlier<strong>_

_**Vienna, Austria **_

A pain was felt in Edward side, as an umbrella was poked into his abdomen. Edward frowned, the bomb should have exploded by now; there was only a ten-second delay.

"You're supposed to be a genius Mr. Green not an idiot." Mycroft took his free hand and reached into Edward's coat pocket. He pulled out a phone, the phone was not Edwards.

Edward stared in shock. "The woman," he whispered.

Mycroft smiled before adding, "I promised my brother that I would not shoot you or any such similar thing. Please do not let me regret my agreement Mr. Green."

It happened then, Edward broke down into great big hiccupping sobs. His entire body shook as he whispered repeatedly, "I've killed her, I've killed her…"

Mycroft rolled his eyes before giving a warning. "Behave." He then lowered his umbrella.

Edward stopped whispering but continued to sob uncontrollable.

Mycroft sighed. "So much for discretion," he said quietly to himself and he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Yes… put her on." Mycroft waited a minute. Before turning to Green and asking.

"Would you like to speak to Katie?"

The man turned his tear stained face to Mycroft, and looked at him as if he would hug him. Mycroft seeing the man's expression quickly handed him the phone. Mycroft did not wish his suit to be wrinkled after all.

"H… Hello, Katie… baby," Edward hiccupped out.

They were approaching the next stop. Mycroft briefly nodded and stood. Twenty-two _passengers_ stood immediately. Two came over to the where Edward was and helped him to stand, no one attempted to take the phone away.

He walked close to the door smiling a real smile this time. He looked at his watch again.

"Very good Ms. Myers, as always." Mycroft said.

"Thank you Mycroft," Myers answered.

He allowed very few people to call him Mycroft.

He frowned slightly. "You better make your way back to London. You know my…concerns."

"Yes," was her only reply.

The doors opened. With barely a nod, Mary Myers quickly walked away.

Other confused passenger quickly exited the train, some whispering and some looking back as they did.

Mycroft looked at his watch again, it was time.

* * *

><p>Ayyad's soldier was confused. There should have been some sign by now that there was an explosion.<p>

He frowned as he looked at his watch. He thought he had better retreat. The platform was due to explode soon. He had stayed a little longer than safe.

The soldier was startled.

Suddenly the platform was flooded with bodies. The Federal Police of Austria seem to materialize out of nowhere grabbing various persons. A nervous woman with a phone was grabbed and handcuffed as she wept openly. There also seem to be a few American and British agents.

The soldier's heart was beating out of his chest. On the outside, however he appeared calm and collected. He walked quickly out of the station and got into his Audi. He then closed the car door with a slam. He put the key in the ignition and was prepared to leave when a gun in the back of his neck stopped him.

Thomas smiled from the back seat as he said. "Mr. Holmes would like to have a chat with you."

Ayyad's soldier considered his options.

Thomas smile widened. "Please, give me an excuse to shoot," He said calmly.

The soldier sighed, now that he thought further, he supposed he had no options.


	84. Chapter 80

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 80

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>Thanks to;<strong>CrimsonKitsune333<strong>**, ****LadyRavena****, ****LePetitErik****,****Sherlock and ****supernaturalmad****, ****eohippus****,****the ticking clock****,****Ju Lara**** , ****Mitaya****,****Voldemort101****, ****briongloid fiodoir, Trinaluv33,****socalrose,****Aj Elfhawk****, , ****NyteKit,****Prothoe****, , ****Esstell**, thank you all for the conversations. Thank you to all who read, Lots of Love.

**Thanks for the conversations. It makes writing more interesting.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter<em>."**~ Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock was not happy. Lestrade and he were both taken to the hospital. However, Lestrade was treated then released after only a few hours. They treated Sherlock for minor scrapes and bruises and a slight twist to the ankle. They had to re-wrapped his ribs; then insisted that he stay overnight for observations due to his recent injuries and loss of consciousness. Apparently, he had also managed to become dehydrated.

He was given intravenous fluids for dehydration. Sherlock had been particularly unhappy about that fact.

No, Sherlock Holmes was not happy and did not mind letting everyone know it.

As John walked, he thought about how much Sherlock hated hospitals. John had only pressed him once for an explanation. At first Sherlock was quiet and John believed that he would not receive an answer. Then quietly and simply Sherlock had replied that, "hospitals held bad memories." John never asked again.

John stayed with Sherlock to help him avoid boredom but left early in the morning to both get sleep and complete a mission.

John rounded the corner to Sherlock's room and heard raised voices talking.

"Madam, don't say that I did not warn you," A voice that sounded very much like Sherlock said.

A slamming sound was heard.

John quickened his pace.

As he came into Sherlock's room, John saw colored streaks of food slowly sliding down the wall opposite Sherlock's bed. It reminded him of a child's finger painting.

"Mr. Holmes, I think you've just given me an excuse to use restraints," A matronly looking large nurse said between gritted teeth, as she got right in Sherlock's face.

"I'll like to see you try," Sherlock growled back dangerously.

"Alright, alright what's going on?" John asked.

The nurse notice John for the first time, she growled then stepped back, trying to regain some professional composure before speaking.

"Mr. Holmes is being impossible," She snarled.

"I'm sure we can straighten this out, give us a moment please," John said soothingly with a smile.

"I'll be back, Mr. Holmes," the nurse glared.

"Maybe you should pop home instead; you may be able to catch him in the act **this time**." Sherlock replies sweetly.

She took a step toward Sherlock growling. John stepped in-between quickly holding up a hand and spoke.

"Thank you, and a lovely job you're doing. Again I need a second," John tried to diffuse the situation with a false smile.

The nurse glared one last time then left.

John sighed once the door was closed and turned his eyes on Sherlock not saying a word only folding his arms and glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to hide his smirk when John looked at him and instead looked straight ahead.

"Sherlock you're not fooling anyone you're not sorry one bit." John informed Sherlock.

"Well she started it; I told her I was not going to eat that laboratory experiment that they call a lunch!" Sherlock folded his arms now too, while grimacing slightly.

"What did you do?" John asked resigned.

"I thought you were more intelligent than that John, you see the walls," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"You know what I mean," John said as he advanced closer, frowning.

Sherlock said nothing but his hands played with the corner of the bed linen.

"**Sherlock!"** John lost patience.

"Well I **may **have mentioned that the reason she was so insistent that I eat lunch is because she has the need to control someone since she has no control over her husband," Sherlock cleared his throat while avoiding John's eyes.

"And…," John asked.

_Brief silence_

"**And**…," John became more annoyed.

"And I **may** have suggested that she secretly wanted to not stop his affair but have a sexual liaison, a rendez-vous sexuel, with both her husband, and her husband's lover at the same time, thus her frustration." Sherlock looked at the opposite wall now.

John bit his lips to keep from laughing but a chuckle slipped out, John tried to cover it with a cough.

Sherlock turned quickly to John, while he eyed him with suspicion.

"Sherlock, we've had this discussion, you're supposed to play nicely with the other children. You can't go around saying things like that," John said trying to sound serious.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and started to speak, but John held up one hand.

"Even if it's true Sherlock!" John finished.

"Well maybe it was a bit not good, but I'm bored and she was rude," Sherlock state dramatically.

"She threatened to give me an enema out of spite. She's the one who needs an enema!"

Sherlock glared toward the door.

"Alrighty then," John's eyes widened as he thought to himself, "A little too much information there."

John walked over to the seat and sat putting a package on the hospital table.

Sherlock followed John's movement and seemed relieved that his scolding was over.

"Where were you John?" Sherlock asked with narrowed eyes and a slight pout.

"Missed me?" John asked as he opened the top of his package.

"Not even a little."

"I missed you too," John said nonplussed, as he smelled his package.

Sherlock's nose alerted him as he turned to John and eyed the package.

"So… what do you have there?" Sherlock asked causally.

"Oh nothing you'll be interested in. It's the reason for me leaving in fact. Mrs. Hudson insisted that I bring you something. I tried to tell her that you weren't interested, but you know how she can be." John smiled, as he smelled the package again.

"And that would be?" Sherlock asked trying and failing to sound uninterested.

"Oh don't bother. I'll just have a little lunch if you don't mind. I'll put yours in the garbage. Don't worry, I'll tell her that you ate."

John made a motion as though he would get up.

"John wait… it would be impolite to not at least take a spoonful… she did go to all that trouble after all." Sherlock eyed the bag.

"If you're sure…"

"Of course, of course." Sherlock sighed long-sufferingly.

"Alright mate," John said as he very slowly opened the package completely, and very slowly handed the soup to Sherlock. John may have taken a bit longer than necessary to find the spoons as well.

John thought he heard Sherlock's drool hit the sheets, but of course, he could have been imagining things.

"Here we go, sorry about that," John said quite insincerely as he finally put the spoon down alongside the soup in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled but covered it with a serious look when he noticed John looking.

"I do know how to eat soup John unless you'll like to spoon feed me."

"Oh sorry mate," John returned to his own chair and his own soup. John smiled; Sherlock was so predictable.

* * *

><p>AN: ** rendez-vous sexuel is French for sexual tryst.**


	85. Chapter 81

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 81

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter."<em>** ~ Winston Churchill

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Thirty minutes later and both men were satisfied. John thought it was best not to mention that Sherlock had practically licked the bowl clean.

John thought about how Mrs. Hudson was good for Sherlock, for them both really. Sherlock was underweight when they had first met. Now he was at a proper weight. John had even noticed that he had lean muscles everywhere on his body, not that he would say he noticed, people would talk, and they talked enough.

"John you're staring," Sherlock said without opening his eyes.

"Oh sorry," John looked at the wall.

Sherlock sighed then opened his eyes. "So when do I get released from this prison?"

John rolled his eyes. "Later this evening, Sherlock. I think the doctor wants to give you half a liter more fluid for dehydration and that's it."

"Oh thank the Lord!" Sherlock almost shouted as he raised both hands dramatically.

"Um John, I'll need some clothes; it seems that my clothes have disappeared, and this bloody hospital gown is too short. Don't they know that tall people wear gowns too?" Sherlock was aggravated.

John was unusually quiet. "Yes, um, Lestrade volunteered to bring it when he comes this afternoon. It was accidentally taken when you first came in." John found the article in the newspaper particularly interesting today and moved the paper directly in front of his face.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed then he gasped.

"John Watson, care to explain why you're tapping your left foot? You only do that when you're trying to **unsuccessfully** cover-up guilt." Sherlock was not a happy man, again.

"I do not know what you are referring to," John stopped his foot from tapping suddenly but still hid behind the newspaper, "I'll just go and see what progress is made on your discharge." John motioned to get up.

"**SIT**!" Sherlock said firmly as he pushed the paper down with one hand.

"John?" Sherlock asked.

John said nothing but stared back almost innocently. Almost.

Sherlock looked him up and down then his eyes widened as his mouth opened slightly.

John concentrated on making his face blank, unfortunately, his left foot started tapping nervously again without him noticing.

"How could you?" Sherlock practically growled.

"I don't know what you're talking about. And, neither does Lestrade. Oh… and neither does Mrs. Hudson." John crossed his arm. He then noticed his foot and stopped it from tapping.

Sherlock almost jumped out of bed but luckily remembered that he could not without exposing certain parts that his mother once taught him should not be exposed.

Sherlock growled, "You wanted to keep me here last night, so that I would not sneak out!"

"You were about to sneak out last night?" John suddenly had an excuse to turn the tables.

"Yes…, No…, I mean…, **Don't change the subject**!" Sherlock was flustered.

John looked proud.

"Don't be tetchy Sherlock, Lestrade is on his way with your clothes; I suggest you stay under those sheets in the meantime, unless you want to expose your family jewels to the world."

John picked up the paper and resumed reading, ignoring Sherlock's death dagger stare. At least he wanted Sherlock to believe he was reading. In reality, behind the paper, John had a face-splitting grin. He bit his lip in an effort to keep from laughing.

Yes, Sherlock was predictable.

* * *

><p>**Irritable would be a <em>nice<em> definition for tetchy**


	86. Chapter 82

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 82

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear."<strong>_ ~George S. Patton

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock was fully dressed and ready to go an hour before he was due to leave.

"Sherlock, be patient, you know that paperwork takes time. Lestrade said he would be back in an hour. You promised Mycroft that you would wait for Lestrade and not take a cab,** and** you know that you have to leave in the wheelchair!"

John pinched the bridge of his nose as he looked at the wheelchair, he could feel a _Sherlock Holmes is being an arse_ headache coming on.

"**You** can wait for the paperwork and sign for me. We **can** take a cab. Furthermore, we both know I've taken out an IV Lock or two, it's really easy, watch." Sherlock then pushed up his sleeve to where the lock was located on the backside of his hand, and started to loosen the tape.

"Sherlock!" John grabbed his hands to stop the movement before looking with annoyance at Sherlock, "Sherlock, you do want them to release you, and not do a Psychiatric evaluation, don't you."

John glared at Sherlock.

Sherlock glared back saying hotly, "I'm warning you John, if they take much longer and you find me missing, look for me at 221B Baker Street, London, England!"

They both stared each other down in silence. An unexpected yawn from Sherlock broke the staring match.

John signed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock close your eyes for a second. I will see what progress is made."

Sherlock eyes were closed and he had laid back his head on the hospital chair.

John's annoyance left suddenly as he looked at Sherlock. John wondered how Sherlock had the ability to make you want to hug him one minute, and slap him the next. Not that he would do either John clarified to himself.

"Get some sleep Sherlock, I'll go check again," John said and he turned to leave.

"I'm simply closing my eyes and thinking." Sherlock stifled another yawn.

"Sure you are," John said under his breath to himself. "I'll be back, please do not terrorize the staff."

Sherlock said nothing but remained with his eyes closed.

John stopped suddenly.

"Sherlock promise me that you will not sneak out while I'm gone." Sherlock did not answer. John knew that was never a good sign.

"Sherlock." John knew he sounded whiny but could not seem to help it.

"Agreed John," Sherlock sighed quietly in a long-suffering tone.

"John looked at his watch. The new agent has been gone for fifteen minutes, how long does it take anyone to get some coffee, John wondered. John again turned to leave.

A nurse walked in smiling speaking quietly, "Dr Watson there is a phone call for you on one of the lines, a Mycroft Holmes."

"Thank you, I can call from my own phone," John pulled his phone from his pocket.

"Sir, no private phone is allowed to be used on this floor." The nurse raised an eyebrow and frowned.

"Yes of course, sorry." John knew he was not to use a private phone. But, he also knew one little phone call would do no harm. It was the same principle as a phone being used on an airplane. In reality there would have to be twenty people in the same area, on the phone at the same time to have an effect.

John also knew that Sherlock was listening and would never let him hear the end of it if** he** did not follow the rules.

He looked at Sherlock again. Even though his eyes were closed, there was a slight smirk on his lips. Sherlock apparently found it amusing that John was the one being scolded.

"Lead the way." John plastered a false smile on his face.

They passed a corridor and walked down a long hallway passing the station where all the medical staff sat. They then rounded a corner and went inside of a room.

John frowned as he looked at the nurse. "Sorry sir, the call came in on this line." After a brief smile the nurse was gone, closing the door behind him.

John sat down and put the phone to his ear, "Hello… Mycroft?"

* * *

><p>Sherlock heard the door to his room open and close. Sherlock noticed that the pattern was not John's footsteps. "How annoying," Sherlock thought.<p>

The steps advanced toward him and stopped right next to him, by the chair. Sherlock made it a point to ignore the visitor and did not open his eyes.

Sherlock felt a burning sensation in his vein where the IV lock was still present.

Sherlock's eye flew open and he stared at the male nurse. "Sorry sir, the doctor ordered a last dose of medicine. I thought you were asleep and did not want to walk you."

Sherlock's hands immediately went into his pockets. Sherlock eyes blinked rapidly a few times. Sherlock smiled and stood. "I need to tell Doctor Watson a few things," Sherlock said quietly. Sherlock stood and walked toward the closed door to his room.

The nurse watched.

* * *

><p>AN: IV Lock, in some countries it is called a Heparin lock. It is a temporary medical device inserted in a vein close to the skin were intravenous fluids can be connected then disconnected when finished so that patients have more freedom when moving.


	87. Chapter 83

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 83

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear."<em>** ~George S. Patton

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

"Hello… Hello." John knew someone was on the other line but could not hear the other person. "Mycroft, I'll call you back, I can't hear a thing…, hello?" John frowned and looked around.

He took out his own phone and made a call. There was no answer. John frowned slightly and wondered why Mycroft would call when the last time that John spoke with him, Mycroft informed John that he would be unavailable for three more hours. Mycroft left an emergency number but it was to be called, in Mycroft's words, "... only if Sherlock managed to get himself in trouble."

He called the number to the agent assigned to Sherlock. The phone rang a few times, no answer.

John knew sometimes the signal strength in A/E and hospitals were poor. Still, something he could not put his finger on was bothering him. John got up quickly and walked briskly back to Sherlock's room. As he rounded the corner, John was relieved to not find medical staff running from Sherlock's room.

"I told you, you were being ridiculous," John mocked himself.

"Dr. Watson," A nurse caught his attention as he passed the station again. "We rushed the discharge as **you requested**. The papers are ready if you would sign the papers now, Mr. Holmes will be free to go."

John glanced down the hall then looked at the nurse. "Can we do this in Mr. Holmes room?"

"Of course sir, I will be down as soon as I can with the paperwork." The nurse looked slightly annoyed.

John knew that her little speech was code for, _sign it here and now or your arse will have to wait_.

John signed and put on a smile, "I'll sign it now, thanks."

The nurse plastered on a smile "Yes, as you wish, Dr. Watson."

Fifteen minutes later and a frustrated John Watson walked toward Sherlock's room. The nurse insisted that he read every line and verbalize his full understanding.

"I'm just a bloody doctor," he whispered angrily to himself. "What could I possibly know about medical care?"

They were all afraid to take their frustrations out on Sherlock, John realized, so John by proxy were their target for frustration.

John opened the door to find the room empty. John cursed. John remembered how Sherlock had promised him that he would wait for him to come back. John agreed that he was gone a lot longer than he originally thought, but Sherlock did make a promise.

John saw the IV lock on the floor with a small trail of blood. Sherlock could remove an IV faster and more efficiently that many medical staff.

This was done in a hurry.

This was not like Sherlock.

And Sherlock did not make promises easily but he has never known him to break a promise. John heart rate picked up as he phoned Lestrade.

The phone rang twice.

"Lestrade, Sherlock's missing." John did not say hello.

Lestrade cursed, "I told you we should have waited to give him his clothes. I'm in the lift now, I'll be right up." Then the call was disconnected.

John hoped he was overreacting but an image of a bloodied and nearly dead Sherlock, outside of a warehouse when he managed to escape from Ayyad, came unwelcome into his mind.

"Sherlock if you just walked out of here, I'll kill you myself!" John said as he jogged to the nurse's station with an phone to his ear.

He found the nurse that he was speaking with earlier; he glanced and saw Lestrade walking quickly with a phone in hand as well.

"Sherlock Holmes; was he taken for any test… anywhere… **anything** that I'm not aware of." John asked rapidly.

"Sir," The nurse frowned and started looking from Lestrade to John, "You're not allowed to use your private phones in here."

"**Do you know where Sherlock Holmes is or not**?" John asked hotly as he glared at the nurse. Lestrade glared as well waiting for an answer.

All the staff became silent then stared in their direction.

John did not apologize.

"No sir, nothing I'm aware of." She now looked concerned, "Is everything ok?"

John did not answer but spoke on the phone.

"Do you have any cameras or surveillance footage of the inside?" Lestrade took over.

"No, I don't believe so, come with me, I'll take you to our security." The nurse moved quickly now as Lestrade followed. The other staff started to whisper.

John raked a hand through his hair as he waited for Mycroft to pick up. Mycroft answered on the second ring. "Mycroft, Sherlock's missing." John again, did not say hello.

_A few seconds of silence followed then, "How long?" Mycroft asked._

John closed his eyes before answering, "Possible twenty-five minutes. Closer to half an hour at this point."

"_Where's the agent that I assigned?" _

John swallowed hard. "I've been unable to reach him for…," John looked at his watch before replying weakly, "Forty-five minutes."

"_I see," Mycroft responded quickly."Go back to Sherlock's room John, wait there."_

"What do you mean…?" John was flustered.

"_John," Mycroft said soothingly, "I have another agent in place. Go to Sherlock room now, John. I'll be in touch." With that, the line disconnected. _

John nodded to an empty phone line.


	88. Chapter 84

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 84

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear."<strong>_

~George S. Patton

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

John's mind was spinning at the turn of events.

John jogged into Sherlock's room.

He came in the room to find Mary bending on the floor looking at the IV Lock and generally scanning the room.

"Mary," John asked confused. "I'm sorry, what are you doing here?"

"I just stopped by to say hello to Mr. Holmes." She smiled at John.

"I'm sorry this is not a good time." John was growing impatient.

Mary looked John up and down then frowned, "How long has he been missing?" Her British accent left instantly replaced with an American one.

John was on edge, "Who are you?" He took a step toward her now angry.

"Love, we do not have time for this," she said soothingly taking a step closer as well. She continued moving closer until they were practically touching.

"Mycroft," John said simply looking Mary in the eyes. He was amazed. He wondered if Lestrade knew the truth about her.

Without Mary's eyes ever leaving his, John felt a hand in his pocket.

"Hey!" John protested.

"Sorry, I need your phone," Mary did not seem shy or apologetic.

"You should have been sent a text if Holmes is anything like his reputation suggests."

"What sort of text?" John asked now looking at Mary as she held both her phone and John's phone. She rapidly typed in numbers and codes.

Mary did not answer right away but concentrated on her task.

"I need an activation," She spoke to someone on her mobile phone.

"Mary…?" John started to ask questions but was hushed.

Mary smiled, "He **is **a clever boy." Mary disconnected her phone but held on to John's phone.

"GPS, John. Mycroft had a tracking system installed on Mr. Holmes mobile phone. It seems to have been activated Thirty-eight minutes ago by Mr. Holmes."

Her smile faded, "John, you need to go home, if someone calls or make demands; someone has to be there to answer," John nodded his understanding. Mary smiled again and squeezed his arm. She took a moment to look into John's eye. "I know what he means to you, John."

She hesitated briefly. "It's a good idea to keep your gun on you, at least for the moment."

At John's questioning look Mary confirmed, "Yes John, I do know you have one, it'll be our little secret." She squeezed his arm again. "Tell Lestrade that I was here."

Mary quickly disappeared out the door with her ponytail bobbing in rhythm to her steps.

* * *

><p>AN: Short chapter today, multiple up soon. Lots of Love (LoL)


	89. Chapter 85

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 85

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

**teddy bear alert**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear."<strong>_ ~George S. Patton

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Lestrade spoke with the task force. He looked at John as he walked, pacing the floor. Donovan looked briefly at John then returned to work, saying nothing.

Anderson's examination of Sherlock's hospital room confirmed what everyone already knew. Sherlock Holmes did not walk out; he was taken out in a wheelchair by two men who drew no attention to themselves because they appeared to be hospital workers. An examination of the IV Lock confirmed that Sherlock had indeed been drugged.

Mycroft was on his way back but it would take three hours to arrive. That was three hours that Sherlock may not have.

Anthea was in the flat on her phone, not texting away but actually speaking on the phone. John stared at Anthea. He was curiously numb, as he realized that even though he has witnessed her texting many times, this was the first time he had actually seen her talking on any phone. It was obvious that she was speaking to Mycroft.

CCTV was being scanned, but the CCTV was more helpful following a suspect that was already in sight, than trying to find a random person if they were smart enough to not to draw attention to themselves. It would take time to locate the vehicle that Sherlock was kidnapped in. The Yard had arranged for random police stops before major thruways were entered.

Lestrade motioned for John. John followed him into the kitchen. John, full of anger and feeling helpless, directed some of that anger at Lestrade. They were only just away from everyone when John spoke.

"Lestrade, I don't understand how Mycroft can have one of his agents covering as a detective and you don't say anything." John did not attempt to cover his irritation.

"I knew Mycroft had someone in place but I never knew who it was." Lestrade explained a little defensively. "There's a leak at Scotland Yard. An outsider was the best way to discover who it was."

Lestrade closed his eyes and took a few breaths. He understood how John felt. In truth, he was feeling just as helpless.

"I just found out twenty-four hours ago that it was Myer," Lestrade said a little calmer now.

John put a hand on Lestrade's shoulder squeezing before letting go as he said, "Sorry mate, I'm being a bit of a twit today."

"I still don't understand why Mycroft didn't tell Sherlock or me?" John was not ready to let the subject go.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "We both know that Sherlock can do that Voodoo mind trick of his. One look at you and he would know that you're keeping something from him John. You would resist at first but we both also know that you would break down within twenty-four hours or less and tell all. You can't keep anything from Sherlock for long."

John frowned and looked insulted but wisely chose not to contradict Lestrade, because he knew that Lestrade spoke the truth. He instead chose to fold his arms defensively.

Lestrade let out another breath. "Don't feel bad. It goes both ways. I've noticed that since you've come into Sherlock life, even though he is still the master of manipulation, when it come to you and you alone, he has a harder time keeping any secrets."

Lestrade smiled before continuing. "I never thought that I would say this about Sherlock Holmes but I think you've made him more… human. But, don't tell Sherlock that I called him human, he would consider it an insult."

John looked at Lestrade now, he smiled and nodded.

"Yoo-hoo," a voice interrupted as she came into the kitchen carrying a bag of food while smiling. "Where did all these people come from, do you boys have another case?" She looked around. "Where's Sherlock I thought he was to be released today from the hospital."

Lestrade and John looked at each other grimly both deciding how best to tell her that Sherlock was kidnapped.

There was no need. Mrs. Hudson's smile vanished as she looked at both men. She never noticed the sound of a thump on the floor or that her hands were suddenly lighter now that she had dropped her bags.

* * *

><p>AN: I hope this chapter clear up any confusion


	90. Chapter 86

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 86

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear."<strong>_ ~George S. Patton

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

His body fought to return to consciousness. He heard muffled voices and sounds then unconsciousness wrapped its arms around him again and he heard nothing.

Moments later Sherlock again fought his way to the waking world. He heard voices and sounds once more but this time it was not muffled but clear. His eyes fluttered briefly then they remained close when something in the back of Sherlock's mind warned him that they should remain so.

He now noticed that the rays of light would come then go in a steady rhythmic behind his closed lids. He felt his body gently rock back and forth also in rhythm. His mind was still foggy. He waited for it to clear. The voice in the back of his mind also told him that there were danger and that time was important even though he could not yet remember why.

Sherlock' felt as if a thousand needles were pricking him all over his body. He swallowed quietly to keep the nausea that he had away. He fought to keep his breathing even, even as the last of the mind fog evaporated. He now tried to remember what happened.

Sherlock remembered waiting in his hospital room for John to return. Sherlock remembered his eyes being closed when he felt a burning sensation in his veins. A male nurse said something in what sounded to an untrained ear as English, but an odd inflection in his voice alarmed Sherlock. The undertones were Czech. Not a nurse, Sherlock corrected himself one of Ayyad's men. Sherlock remembered trying to leave the room; to at least get into the hallway before he collapsed, but the world turned black before he could make it to the door.

Everything suddenly became very clear, as Sherlock's mind was now fully back in control.

Sherlock normally did not feel fear, any kind of fear. He had been that way since he was young. But, the fear came now to him. He felt the familiar terror crawling in his belly, biting and scratching his mind.

He felt his breathing starting to come quicker and it was becoming harder to control. Sherlock knew there would be no way to hide the fact that he was awake if that occurred.

Sherlock knew that Ayyad had not been happy with his interferences. He also knew that the torture he had endured before would not compare to what Ayyad had in store for him if he was to reach their destination.

Sherlock made a decision. He would not reach Ayyad. He would escape no matter what that meant. He knew it was a good possibility that he would be shot before he escaped, but that to Sherlock would be a mercy rather than being turned over to the maniac.

For some reason this decision calmed Sherlock.

His breathing was becoming easier to control now. His self confided was returning as well. Sherlock in a way that he hoped was discreet tested the movement of his limbs. He deduced that he was the only one in the back seat of an SUV. He felt his strength returning, but regardless, if the opportunity to escape came, he would take the chance.

He had no doubt that the only reason he was even awake was because he had a high tolerance for drugs, a side effect of his earlier years long ago. Sherlock was happy that they were not aware of this piece of his personal history. Most people were not aware of his drug use in his younger years thanks to Mycroft, or the dose given to him would have been doubled.

Sherlock hoped that the GPS signal was discovered.

He hoped that his phone was still on him.

He hoped at the end of the day that he would still be alive.

Above all, he hoped that John was ok.


	91. Chapter 87

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 87

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear."<strong>_ ~George S. Patton

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Mrs. Hudson watched John as he almost wore a path into the rug. She did not attempt to tell him to stop. The truth was, if it was not for her bad hip she would have joined him.

Lestrade was on the phone talking to Mycroft. Lestrade gave a sudden command and police officers and agents left the flat almost running over each other. Lestrade gave a mobile phone to John and then he ran out behind Donovan.

"Greg?" John called anxiously.

"Call ya from the car." Lestrade's voice floated up followed by a door slamming.

Mrs. Hudson moved close to John hoping to overhear any conversation. John looked at her briefly giving a tight smile then spoke on the phone.

"Hello Mycroft, I need to know what's happening. Why did everyone just run out of here? Do we know if Sherlock's still in the London area?" John managed to say everything without taking a breath.

"_John, I need you to breathe," Mycroft said patiently._

John with annoyance when he realized that he was holding his breath. He was even more annoyed that Mycroft had noticed.

"Breath taken," John said impatiently.

Mycroft ignored John's agitation. He knew how emotional normal people could be; he wondered how Sherlock had put up with it on a daily basis.

"_I have an agent of mine c_ommunicating _with an agent of Ayyad as we speak. He became one of our guess after capture in Vienna. He was…__** persuaded**__… to tell us of the possible locations in or close to London that Sherlock could be taken to. I have locked down the city. The police are diverting traffic and making random stops. I am hopeful that this will prevent the kidnappers from taking him out of the London or areas close to London; and pressure them to take him to one of their twelve backup locations," Mycroft stopped suddenly._

"What are you not saying Mycroft?" Although Mycroft was still a mystery to John, John knew him long enough to know when there was something he was not saying.

"_The twelve locations are not close together so I've split the team up. I have directed Lestrade to the most likely of the locations. The sun will be setting soon; this can be either an advantage or a disadvantage depending on whether Myer can track Sherlock's GPS signal." Mycroft sighed audibly after he stopped speaking._

"Continue Mycroft," John said while looking at Mrs. Hudson who had moved even closer and had her one arm wrapped around John's free arm. He tried to give her a reassuring smile. She saw right through it.

_Mycroft smiled. It was at times like this that he saw what his brother saw in Dr. Watson. He was not a complete idiot. Mycroft smile faded._

"_In the unlikely event that they were unable to transport Sherlock to Ayyad where he was waiting to personally show Sherlock his full hospitality. __Ayyad's agent__ assured me that there were very specific plans and instructions on what to do to Sherlock. He was to be made an example of."_

John wrestled with his emotion for a few minutes before speaking again in a broken voice that was rough with emotion.

"Does this specific plan include killing Sherlock?" John finally asked. He vaguely noticed Mr. Hudson's arm tighten around his.

_There was only silence from Mycroft._

"**Does this specific plan include killing Sherlock?"** John asked a little more forcefully.

_Mycroft drew a deep breath before responding._

"_John…,__** technically**__… Sherlock would be still considered…, alive."_


	92. Chapter 88

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 88

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear."<strong>_ ~George S. Patton

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock deduced that there were four men in the first and second row of seats. They spoke in Czech. Two of the four men seemed to be in the midst of a power struggle. It was obvious that they did not care for each other. One man was Veselý the other was Němec. With his eye still closed and pretending to be unconscious, Sherlock interpreted what they were saying in his mind.

"_I told you that your scheme was not well thought out."_ _A soldier named Veselý complained._

"How was it not well planned? You have been staring at Holmes for over two weeks, doing nothing," another soldier named Němec replied angrily.

"_He had protection! Besides, I was only supposed to watch him until seven days ago," Veselý felt his anger growing._

"Yes he had protection but we still took him." Němec looked at Veselý with contempt and loathing. He admitted to himself that Veselý was once a great soldier but he did not see him as anything that deserved to be revered. Němec did not realize that jealousy played a part in the way he felt.

"_Yes we have him and half of London breathing down our throats." Veselý was happy to point the fact out._

_Brief Silence_

"If you are **frightened** Veselý, why don't you go back to the general and tell him so. He can deliver your message to Ayyad, personally." Němec looked him up and down and smiled before speaking again in a condescending tone.

"Is it true that you have seen his face, Ayyad's that is, and that he have threatened your life because of your weak… pathetic… failure?"

_Silence_

"_I have killed for less, if it was not unprofessional; you would be dead now." Veselý leaned closer to Němec in the moving vehicle and his voice became dangerously low._

"Look at him Veselý. He's nothing, just a broken, helpless, pathetic Englishman," A chuckle was heard echoing in the enclosed space, "This time tomorrow; he'll be willing to do anything he is asked, and begging Ayyad to give him the mercy of death." Němec chuckled again.

Sherlock deduced by the slight hold in their breath and increase in their voice volume that at least two of the soldiers were looking at him. He tried not to move and to keep his respirations even.

"_As you pointed out I was assigned to watch him. I was also there briefly when he was captured before. Take my advice Němec, if your arrogance will allow it. It would do you good to give him more respect than you're currently showing." Veselý voice suddenly became steady again._

_Silence_

"Veselý, your old ways don't work anymore in this modern world. Why don't you go to the general and tell him that** I** have recovered Ayyad's prize. I will secure Holmes and move him when all the… excitement is over. Then Ayyad can… **play**… with Holmes as much as he desires." Němec basically dismissed Veselý.

Sherlock could tell by the drop in their voices that they were no longer staring at him.

"If I cannot move him within twenty-four hours, I will follow instructions…" Němec smiled, "… with pleasure. He will then be my toy, and we know how much I **love **to play with my toys before I break them."

Němec's voice deepened and slowed with barely contained excitement.

"My method of torture may not be as skilled as Ayyad, but I have no doubt that I will effectively deliver the message that Ayyad wishes to convey. Who says that our jobs don't have their own joys?"

_Silence _

"_You're as big of a fool as Novák was." Veselý said no more._

Sherlock notice from the angle of the sun on his closed lids and face that it would be dark in a little over two hours. Sherlock felt his body lean heavily to the left as the truck made a swift right turn somewhere. Sherlock also noticed that the slight buzzing sound that is heard when other cars pass, had been increasingly less as they drove. He felt the car slow then come to a complete stop. He then felt a slight rock and then the slam of a car door.

He now only heard three voices.

Sherlock prepared himself, he went into his mind, and he tested his waking body.

He tensed.

He waited.

He…, waited.


	93. Chapter 89

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 89

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear."<strong>_ ~George S. Patton

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

John paced back and forth, Lestrade had called from the car as promised and filled John in on their destinations.

A second phone call was made from Lestrade to John informing him that they had found the body of the agent assigned to guard Sherlock. He was dead and had been placed in the morgue of the hospital that Sherlock was in. The body was stuffed inside a draw with another dead body. It had been a professional hit.

Mrs. Hudson sat quietly at the table and watched John. She had not been able to get him to eat anything but did persuade him to drink a small amount of tea.

John stopped pacing suddenly.

Mrs. Hudson recognized the look in John's eyes. It was a look that she did not like. Normally, **the look** was found on Sherlock's face now it was on the face of the normally level headed John. It was the look of a man about to do something that he should not do.

She sighed already bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

John continued to stand still for a few more minutes thinking. He then swiftly walked over to the table and picked up the borrowed phone. He held it in his hands for a few seconds, then making up his mind punched in some numbers.

The phone quietly rung as someone miles away answered the other line.

"_John I'll be there in a little less than an hour now." Mycroft immediately knew who it was._

"Yes… about that… I need to look for Sherlock as well, I can't just sit here. I just need to know where to start. What about the GPS on my phone?" John was determined.

"_I'm sorry John I cannot allow it. You'll get in the way. In addition, if anything were to happen to you and Sherlock found out that I assist; he would truly never forgive me. Again, I'm sorry but the answer is no." Except for Sherlock, Mycroft was used to being obeyed without question._

John took a deep breath. "Mycroft I wasn't seeking your permission, I was asking for your help. I'm out the door with or without your assistance. However, I am willing to admit that with your help it would probably be more fruitful."

There was silence for a few minutes as John heard a rustling sound coming from Mycroft's end.

"_I suppose that living with my brother has been a bad influence on you, John," there was a pause as Mycroft was heard inhaling his breath. "I don't suppose a logical plea would work or me pointing out the fact that your response to the situation is irrational and highly emotional and may in fact end up with you hurt and injured or worse."_

John smiled for the first time in hours.

"See Mycroft, we have gotten to know each other quite well," John said nothing more but waited for Mycroft to make a decision.

_Mycroft finally answered. "Take down these numbers and codes. Also, take down this mobile phone number. John, follow my instructions exactly. And John… don't get yourself killed, it would be most… inconvenient."_

John and Mycroft spoke for a few more minutes. As John moved about getting his coat and other objects, Mrs. Hudson came out of the kitchen with two cups of tea. She put the kettle to boil the moment she was convinced that John was leaving. She sat quietly waiting for him to settle.

John hung up the phone and suddenly looked at Mrs. Hudson as if he had forgotten that she was in the room. He smiled apologetically. She smiled back her understanding.

"John are you sure about this? You don't even know where to start?" Mrs. Hudson made her way next to him holding a cuppa tea.

"This is Sherlock," John replied simply looking at Mrs. Hudson.

"Well then...," She smiled while sighing, "… drink this, we're British, we don't enter battle without tea. Be careful and get Sherlock back. And, if anyone tries to stop you John, you know how to use that thing," Mrs. Hudson managed to say all rapidly in one breath as she pointed to the gun.

John looked at her curiously then smiled as he said simply, "Yes Mum." He turned quickly after another glance and was out the door running.


	94. Chapter 90

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 90

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional."<em>** ~M. Kathleen Casey

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Footsteps and voices were heard. The sudden feelings of rough hands grabbing and pulling on his body were felt.

A part of Sherlock was startled by the sudden touching. He decided to be honest with himself and admit this fact. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to cry out, shout, fight, or flee. He would have done one or a combination of the previous had he not prepared his mind for the moment that he knew was coming.

The sudden body movement brought the sensation of nausea back. He hoped that whoever was carrying him was too distracted to notice that he was swallowing to keep the nausea from causing him to vomit.

He was practical dropped on the floor. Concrete, a part of his brain noted as he felt small waves of pain in the back of his head, back, ribs, and shoulders from the drop. His comfort was apparently not a concern.

He heard someone in the distance ask how long he would be unconscious. Another voice replied that it would be at least another hour with the dose that he was given.

Sherlock was grateful when his nausea died down. The vomiting would have been an undeniable sign that he was at least partially conscious. At the moment he was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. After what appeared to several minutes, Sherlock was again roughly moved and deposited with a thump on the floor with his back just hitting a wall.

Someone was told to guard him and the voices died down.

Sherlock had hoped that there would only be three men. But, he now realized that he heard several more voices upon entering the building. His escaped would prove to be more problematic than he had first anticipated Sherlock realized grimly.

Sherlock decided to wait a few minutes to listen for movement. He would then open his eyes and survey his surroundings. If everything went well, he would then make a call that he hoped would send the troop in kicking down the door.

He had, in the past, argued with his brother about how he was perfectly capable of getting out of any unpleasant situation he got himself into. Today, however, if anyone managed to find him, he promised himself to kiss the first person who came through the doors... as long as it was not Anderson.

He listened for several minutes and heard nothing.

He took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes.


	95. Chapter 91

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 91

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>When a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do. Think up <em>**

**_something appropriate and do it."_** ~ Edgar Watson Howe

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Myers felt her phone vibrating as she stood behind the corner of a building at her third stop. This was her third location to check and clear. One of the two previous locations that she had checked contained Ayyad's men; the other was empty and abandoned with only equipment remaining behind.

Earlier, she had called in the information to Mycroft who had agents on their way to capture the men at the one location and examine the second. Mycroft was skilled at assessing people and knowing how best to extract information. Mycroft was apparently keeping in contact with Detective Inspector Lestrade.

The distinct vibration pattern of her phone told her that it was Mycroft. She wondered how Mycroft would feel if he knew that he had a distinct vibration. She smiled a brief smile that quickly faded.

It was unlike him to contact her when she was in the middle of surveillance. She frowned, thought briefly about ignoring it until later, then realized that even though he gave her more freedom that the other agents; this was Mycroft Holmes. Even though he had never given her any personal reason to fear him, she had seen enough to have a healthy respect for the man.

Mycroft realized long ago that she was best when she was allowed a little more freedom and less restraint than the rest of his freelanced operatives. She had enough respect and common sense not to abuse that privilege. It was hard earned and she had no doubt could be easily lost.

She sighed as she stayed behind the building and did a quick check before she answered in a whispered voice. "Mycroft, you usually have better timing."

"Um…, hello Mary, I'll be needing my phone back. I'm eight minutes away, can I get it back before you storm into the building with your guns blazing?" Mary pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it as if the phone had grown a human head.

"Doctor John Watson?" Mary knew who it was, but she needed confirmation that this was not some elaborate prank. For a minute, she looked around half expected a crap television cameraman, from some crap telly program, to jump out from some hidden spot and point a camera in her face yelling, "Surprise!"

She suddenly realized that the moment was real.

"What are you doing on my phone? How did you find me? And again, what are you doing on my phone?" Mary whispered an angry hiss.

"As I said, I need **my** phone. GPS coordinates that **Mycroft** gave me. I didn't realize that he had a GPS put on my phone also; well anyway, as I was saying, I need **my** phone… I'm five minutes away now." John waited patiently as if she was a little slow mentally and his request was the most reasonable thing in the world.

She again was dumbfounded for a few second but quickly recovered. "Well you can't have it, Dr. Watson. I need it to track your friend so why don't you turn around carry yourself home and leave this to the professionals." She felt a smirk as she decided that the discussion was over.

"You're lying. You've had enough time to download the information to your phone. You don't need it anymore, I do. I happen to be hunting a friend." Mary heard the distinct sound of a car door slamming on the phone. She then heard feet hitting the concrete in a rhythmic tap. "I'm three minutes away now. By the way lovely, between the two of us, I'm the only one who has actually rescued him, more than once by the way."

Mary let out a string of whispered curses that would have made a harden criminal blush. John frowned holding the phone away from his ear as he jogged. He waited for her to finish then put the phone back to his ear and calmly said, "I'm rounding the corner, I see you." Then John Watson hung up the phone.

Mary frowned slightly. He didn't even seem intimidated. First, he dared to call her, and then he hung up on her. She quietly decided her next move as he approached.

"Lovely evening Mary, my phone please." John held out a hand as he stared at her with a serious expression while catching his breath.

She smiled as she held a gun to John's stomach. Her smile faded as she looked down and realized that John had anticipated her move and he held a gun to her stomach as well.

"Military?" Mary asked calmly.

"Use to be," John, answered.

Mary lowered her gun as a questioning look went on her face. Maybe there was more to him than she first thought.

"Phone," John demanded more forcefully now but still in a hush voice.

Mary sighed and gave the phone to John. "What do you plan to do now?" She asked needlessly.

"Find phone, check off one. Find friend, save friend, not get self killed in the process. I thought I would start with that big old building over there, seeing as I'm here and the signal stops in this area; you?" John replied somewhat sarcastically.

"Go into **that** building?" Mary eyed him suspiciously, "You don't actually think I'm going to take you with me do you?" Mary questioned.

"You're not my concern at the moment love. There are over twenty abandoned buildings in this area, plenty to search." John hesitated, "Even though… considering all that has happened, should the worst occur I do suppose two guns would be better than one." John now looked at Mary. "I don't care how Sherlock is saved or who gets the credit for saving him. All I care about is that he **is **saved."

"How rusty are you with your hand to hand combat?" Mary asked already starting to move running low.

"Very," John replied honestly, "probably get killed. Very good shot though."

"By the way, I have a knife too." Mary informed John.

"Nice," John ran keeping up with her. He was used to keeping up with Sherlock and Sherlock had much longer legs, Mary was a little shorter than he was, even in her heels.

"Do you remember your hand signals Doctor Watson?"

"We shared a phone call me John, and Yes."

They ran wordlessly into the first building now as the sun prepared to set along an isolated abandoned industrial park that bordered the river Thames.


	96. Chapter 92

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 92

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>Thanks to; LadyRavena, Eohippus, LogicandWonderland, ds9jullian, , Sensue, socialrose, LePetitErik , the ticking clock , iliadkeble, Mitaya, socalrose, Aj Elfhawk, Prothoe, iliadkeble , Esstell, princessangelwings, briongloid fiodoir; thank you all for the recent comments and conversations. Thank you to all who read, Lots of Love.<p>

**Thanks**, You keep me motivated.

Moreover, to the individual who has threatened me with bodily harm should harm come to Sherlock or John, I only have one comment. Remember, I now keep both of my eyes on you. Both…, Eyes. (Raised eyebrows).

Lots of Love to all.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"<em>**_** Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of pain**." _~ Charles Dickens

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Lestrade let out a frustrated sigh as he walked away from the building. He called Donavan aside.

Anderson examined the first few locations. He analyzed the rooms that most of the equipment was found in. Anderson also examined the dead guards that still needed to be removed. Anderson reported to Lestrade that he had found nothing during his examinations to help narrow Sherlock's location.

Anderson was now on his way to the current location.

Something was not right in Lestrade's mind.

Three out of the first four locations had Ayyad's men. They were surrounded and surprised by the government raid. Ayyad's men have been captured with several more of Ayyad's men becoming casualties. Fortunately, only one government agent received minor injuries.

Lestrade called Donovan over.

Lestrade held up one finger to Donovan as he ended his conversation with Mycroft. His eyebrow was still raised as he disconnected the phone.

Mycroft indicated that he would be joining Lestrade personally. Most of the contacts that Lestrade has had with Mycroft had been by phone, usually with Mycroft giving orders and Lestrade following.

Lestrade sighed.

The man in person has been always unpleasant.

Lestrade sighed again and deciding that if it meant getting Sherlock back, he would tolerate having two Holmes instead of one in his world. He looked at Donovan now.

"Donovan, agents are at three locations as we speak there are only four locations left unchecked, but… " He hesitated.

"Sir," she asked waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

"Something isn't right. Except for the first three locations, everywhere that we went to seems as if it was quickly abandoned, **before** we could arrive." Lestrade dry wiped his eyes and looked pass Donovan toward the building watching men walk in and out some carrying things.

"Lestrade, what are you thinking?" Donovan asked as she frowned looking at him.

Lestrade shook his head still not looking at Donovan, "I don't know yet," he then pulled her aside and spoke quietly with her. Donovan was then seen nodding and walked swiftly away. Lestrade nodded to two agents that looked at Donovan and swiftly followed. They went with her; they quickly opened and closed the back door of the car that she was in. Then Donovan, and the two agents swiftly drove away.

An officer walked up to the Inspector and asked, "Sir, where are they going?"

"Nothing, just running an errand. Find anything more, McMullen?" Lestrade turned to look at the young officer. He was the son of a retired Scotland Yard detective.

"No sir, sorry."

Both looked up as the sound of wheels rolling on the paved road. A black limousine pulled to a stop at the same time as a police transport vehicle. A chauffeur quickly exited and opened the door for a very unhappy looking man who was carrying an umbrella. Three men and a woman also exited the limousine on their own.

"Here we go," Lestrade said under his breath as he walked toward Mycroft.

Anderson stopped next to the young officer. "So, any ideas about where they are going to go next?"

McMullen answered then Anderson asked a few more questions that were detailed. Afterwards, Anderson nodded, and gave McMullen a slight squeeze on the arm. Anderson subsequently proceeded to walk inside the building.

McMullen frowned to himself. When Anderson was talking, he thought he smelled the faintest traces of alcohol. He hastily dismissed the idea and walked away glancing back once.

* * *

><p>Němec received a phone call from the informant. He frowned and let out an angry curse before hanging up.<br>"Turn around," he said to the lower level soldier that was driving.

"Sir you'll be late for the meeting with the general," the driver reminded Němec.

"I… said… turn… the… car… around," Němec said slowly while looking at the driver.

The driver swallowed, "Yes sir," He wisely said nothing else.

Němec pulled out the phone. "Is the transport ready…? (Pause)… Move him… (pause)… yes now, I'll meet you. Call me when you leave, have everyone else clean up and leave later."

Němec hung up the phone and looked out the window of the moving vehicle as London passed by.

Němec became nervous but refused to show it.

It seemed to Němec, that someone was determined to get Sherlock Holmes back.

Němec was determined not to let them. He knew that he had to clean up the _mess _before the general found out. He knew that Veselý would be very happy to inform him of any failure.

He would not give Veselý the satisfaction of being correct.


	97. Chapter 93

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 93 Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"<em>_ Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of pain." _**~ Charles Dickens

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and looked around.

His vision was slightly blurred, he blink several times in an attempt to clear it. He struggled slightly to get upright. He leaned briefly against the wall as he took deep breaths in and out to clear his vision and settle the nausea. He did not dare to close his eyes.

Sherlock took a few tentative steps from the wall. He became more confident and steady with each step and breath. Sherlock frowned and took off his scarf wrapping it snugly around his ankle on top of the supportive wrap that was already applied in the hospital. Sherlock had a feeling that he would be running and knew his ankle needed all the support it could get. He tested his ankle, and he was relieved to realize that it felt fine.

He was somewhat dizzy still, but highly motivated. He deduced that he was in an abandoned warehouse.

"Wonderful," Sherlock commented sarcastically to himself.

He remembered his phone, took a deep breath. Sherlock reached inside his coat pocket smiling as he pulled out the phone. He pushed a button and waited impatiently.

"_Sherlock?" John voiced asked in both amazement and excitement. _

Before Sherlock could answer, shouts suddenly rang out in the warehouse. It sounded close but Sherlock knew in open spaced like warehouses, sounds could be tricky. Sounds could seem closer when far away, or distance when it was close and in an enclosed area.

His heart started to race. He looked from the phone in time to see a young soldier running inside. Both froze in place for a second. Sherlock's stood still except for his eyes only. His eyes moved and looked past the young soldier to the direction of running footsteps.

"Water!" Sherlock shouted before the line was disconnected abruptly.

* * *

><p>John shouted into his phone, forgetting momentarily the connection between the idea of surveillance and silence.<p>

"Sherlock called," John, said needlessly deep in thought and slight shock.

"Well, he still has the phone which means he is here… somewhere." Myers said as she pulled her phone out and called in backup.

"He's definitely in the area somewhere…" Myers continued to talk on her phone.

John was loss in thought. There were only two buildings left in the area that Sherlock could be held in, unfortunately, both were a mile away in opposite directions.

John looked left then right.

One was close to the freeway and one was close to the… A thought came to John's mind suddenly.

He started running as he pulled out his phone and made his own calls. Myers frowned and started running after him with her phone still to her ear.

"Where are we going," she asked as she reached him and jogged alongside him.

"Toward the water, Mary." John noticed that the sun would be setting soon.

* * *

><p>Sherlock looked as two more soldiers came into the room. They looked from Sherlock to the unconscious young soldier on the floor who had a bruise starting to form on his jaw.<p>

Next to the soldier on the floor lay a smashed mobile phone. One soldier frowned surprised, the other looked angry.

"Gentlemen, can we discuss this calmly?" Sherlock asked with partially raised arms and a false smile. He positioned his body as close to the door as possible and as far away from the guards as he could manage.

They both slowly advance one seem to be trying to slip behind him.

"I guess that would be a no," Sherlock whispered to himself as he ducked a swing. He punched the back of one soldier then kicked his leg out. The resulting thud echoed in the moderate size room.

The first soldier cried out in pain. Unfortunately, the second soldier grabbed Sherlock.

Sherlock elbowed him firmly in the abdomen. He was rewarded with the sound of air being forced out of the lungs.

As Sherlock ran for the door, he was tackled by the first soldier who had recovered. Sherlock struggle against the first on the floor when the second soldier recovered and came over and punched Sherlock in the face.

This stunned Sherlock for a moment as stars swum in front of his eyes. Sherlock shook his head to clear it.

They took the moment of his confusion to remove Sherlock of his coat. Next, his suit jacket came off roughly. One of the soldiers pushed up one sleeve of his shirt.

Someone took out his radio and started yelling. They told the person on the other end that they needed the drugs immediately. The soldier looked at Sherlock who had come to himself, and was again struggling. He then spoke on the radio, and told whoever was listening to double the dose.

A groan came from the young soldier who seemed have chosen that moment to wake. This distracted the first soldier who momentarily looked away from Sherlock, and looked at the young soldier.

That was all Sherlock needed.

He kneed the distracted first soldier while biting the second. The first soldier fell on top of the second with a little push from Sherlock.

Sherlock was gone before the soldiers knew exactly what had happened.

Sherlock mind and heart raced as he ran for his life.


	98. Chapter 94

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 94

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><em><strong>"<strong>__** Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of pain**__." _~ Charles Dickens

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock heart beat wildly as he ran through the factory hoping desperately that he was running toward an exit and not into the arms of more soldiers. He knew the general area and had even done surveillance on the abandoned warehouse park, but he had never been in the buildings themselves except for one.

He stopped abruptly.

He found himself in the middle of a long corridor that had a wall with doors leading into rooms on one side and overlooked the factory floor on the other side. A metal rail ran along the side that overlooked the factory floor. It was there to prevent walking persons from falling nine yards to the factory floor below.

On the other side of the corridor was an identical walkway.

Sherlock saw two soldiers running to his left, and on his right, two more were running. One soldier had a slight limp when he ran and was looking particularly angry.

"This is fun," Sherlock hissed irritably. He quickly scanned the area. Time was running out. His mind worked feverishly to find a solution; none was pleasant.

Sherlock ran down the corridor toward one set of soldier. They seemed to look surprised that he was running toward them. Before he reached them, he turned quickly. Sherlock came to a place where a piece of rail was missing and backed up. Sherlock looked to the other side.

"Four-yards, four-yards, it's only four… yards," Sherlock tried to convince himself as his wide eyes looked down. One set of the soldiers almost reached him. Without further hesitation, Sherlock backed up and running jumped.

He felt the rush of air on the back of his neck as someone grabbed for the back of his shirt. The next sound heard was a scream and a thud.

As he was propelled through the air, Sherlock swung his arms and legs, to both propel his body forward and keep his balance.

Sherlock's flight came to an abrupt end as he slammed full force into the metal rail. He was stunned for a moment as the air was violently forced from his chest and a wave of pain radiated from the point of impact outward to the rest of his body.

Sherlock suddenly remembered an important fact; he was trying to escape. Sherlock pushed everything else aside and pulled upward as he grunted from the effort. Sherlock almost managed to pull himself up when he heard the sounds of feet running toward him from the left. He glanced and saw soldiers running out of the corner of his eyes.

"The day gets better and better," Sherlock muttered to himself.

Sherlock looked around, and then he looked down. He stopped as his eyes came upon the body of a soldier. From the odd angle of his head and neck and the open vacant eyes, there was no doubt that he was dead. Sherlock stared, and at that moment he a decision.

Sherlock closed then opened his eyes, he took a deep breath and let go.

* * *

><p>Lestrade and Mycroft received phone calls within seconds of each other. Lestrade was on the phone with Donovan. She was close to the site because she had been instructed to survey that location discreetly by Lestrade. She now hurried more.<p>

Mycroft was on the mobile with agents. When Agent Thomas arrived, he was told to take over the operation at that location by Mycroft.

Lestrade put a Yarder in charge and turned quickly to leave.

"May I ride along with you, Lestrade?" Mycroft asked even though everyone knew it was not a request. Anthea was right beside Mycroft and had no intentions of leaving his side.

"Um, sure Mr. Holmes, this way."

Thomas filed something in the back of his mind as he witnessed Lestrade, Anthea, and Mycroft move hastily toward the car. He had never known Mycroft Holmes to run.

* * *

><p>John and Myers were close to the warehouse now. The sun would be setting soon. This, in John's mind, was a good thing since this particular warehouse was not close to anything. This would make it more difficult to hide an approach.<p>

Both were sweating slightly from the near two hours of searching. Luckily, both were in good condition. John was used to hours of surveillance and chasing down leads and suspects with Sherlock.

The warehouse finally came into sight off in the distance. John prayed that he was not too late.

* * *

><p>Donovan called John and told him that she was on her way.<p>

She glanced grimly at the warehouses in the distant. She decided to drive most of the way until they were closer to the spot that John indicated. She would park the car a short distance from the warehouse that they suspected that Sherlock was being held at. They could at that point proceed on foot when they were close enough. They did not want to alert anyone with the sound of a car.

Backup was on the way, but it would take time to get there. She would not wait. She has a grim feeling that time was the one thing that Sherlock Holmes did not have.

* * *

><p>AN: I am glad that the quotes are appreciated, I am a bit of a quote junkie, but I am seeking therapy.

4 yards is 12 feet.

9 yards is 27 feet.

Lots of Love to all.


	99. Chapter 95

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 95

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~<strong>_

Tommy Lasorda

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock felt the sensation of falling. His tumble toward the ground was abruptly stopped as he violently hit some bags of rubbish that he aimed for. A grunt escaped passed his lips. He lay stunned for a few seconds. Then adrenaline took over and he scrambled to get over the edge of the large open bin without his feet sinking into the garbage.

He barely made it over and started to run when he heard a familiar thud sound caused by a body hitting the rubbish, followed by a similar grunt and a curse. The sounded came from his back. Sherlock did not look back because there was no point. He knew one of the soldiers had gathered the courage and jumped.

He ran, somewhat tired, but he had no intention of stopping. The expected command to _stop or I will shoot_ came.

"Not bloody likely," Sherlock thought as he ran.

A shot whizzed pass his head, he changed direction slightly but saw the opening to the warehouse and concentrated his efforts on that door. Another command to stop came, another ignoring of the command, another shot; Sherlock ignored it all and ran with sweat now pouring down his body and his ankle protesting.

Sherlock noticed the shadow approaching from around a corner on the right too late. He was tackled to the floor. His left shoulder and left side of his head taking the impact of the fall. He was stunned for a moment but regained clarity when he felt several pairs of hands grabbing him by foot and hand. Sherlock struggled making them work hard to carrying him.

* * *

><p>John was minutes away from entering the factory from the other end. He did not realize that Sherlock was just deposited in a vehicle and was being driven away.<p>

* * *

><p>Sherlock, as hands fought to restrain him, and he fought against being restrained; did not realize that John was soon to stand in the very spot that he had moments ago fought to escape from.<p> 


	100. Chapter 96

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 96

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~<strong>_

Tommy Lasorda

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

The doors slammed on a transport vehicle and hand push hard down in an attempt to restrain a very determined Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, John, and Mary were coming around the corner. They had both turned their phone to vibrate far down the road. Mary signaled with her hands indicating which of the three doors on the side closes to the water that they would enter. John, at this point followed, leaving the decision to Mary Myers.<p>

They both hoped that backup would arrive soon, but the truth was that John had no intentions of waiting and neither did Mary.

Mary winched as the door squeaked slightly as it was slowly opened. Both quickly scrambled as quietly as possible behind a wall that obstructed the view of their bodies. After listening for a few minutes, Mary glanced around the corner and signaled John with her hands. He then moved to the next closes location where their bodies could be hidden.

The warehouse was huge, with many levels and exits. It illumination was dim and the sun had set with only a dim but colorful display that delicately lit up the night sky. They started to search the rooms one by one but so far, the building seemed abandoned. Both were still cautious.

A short time within the search they came upon a semi dark room and like the rest approached with caution. As they realized that no one was in the room and turned to leave, John wordlessly held his hand up as he stared into the corner. John was almost sure that he saw something. He moved to the corner. In the dim against the wall and on the floor, something laid. He picked up the familiar light black Belstaff wool coat next to a familiar broken phone and Sherlock's black dress jacket. It was held to his chest as John whispered, "Where are you?"

Heavy and quick footsteps were heard coming toward the room. John quickly put the coat back down as he caught Mary's eyes.

Both moved behind the door as three men came running into the room toward the equipment on the floor.

Bedlam broke out as shots were fired punches and kick were thrown. In the end, one of Ayyad's soldiers lay on the floor with a minor wound to his leg, another lay unconscious and the last lay with a gun pointing to his head and a bruise forming on his jaw that John had put there.

Myers called in their location and for backup to hurry.

John Watson had his own ideas of how to occupy his time while waiting for backup. Myers took out plastic handcuffs, and handcuffed the three individuals while she guarded the door. They claimed to be all that was left and were only still there because they were moving the last of the equipment.

"Tell me where you've taken him, Sherlock Holmes, the man who that coat belongs to." John face was unreadable as he waited for an answer, saying nothing more.

Mary looked briefly but did not end her conversation on the phone. The man looked like a giant teddy bear, she thought to herself. He was harmless. She briefly wondered how he could have made out of the war without being killed.

The soldier smiled. Some slight blood showed on his teeth from where he was punched. He said nothing.

"Where…, is…, he…," John asked with a deceptively calm voice as he moved the gun so that it was now in direct contact with his forehead.

Mary continued to talk, but paid closer attention to John.

John stared the soldier in the eyes and again waited for an answer. Anger flashed in the soldier's eyes as he spoke in a thick Czech accent.

"So, what will you do, Doctor Watson…?" Surprise showed in John's face because the soldier knew his name, "… You always follow the rules. You're an ordinary person; you don't have the guts to shoot me. Don't worry; you'll get him back…, eventually…, more or less alive. Alive at least in body, that is." The soldier then started to laugh and snicker to himself as if someone told him a funny joke that only he understood.

John smiled for the first time as he said in a still, calm, voice, "Since you seem to know all about me, answer a question. Do you think your life means more to me that his. Soldier to soldier, how far do you think I'll go?" John then whispered something so that only the soldier could hear.

The soldier's eyes widen as he snapped his head toward John, looking him in his eyes.

"You have until three." John pulled himself back, he pointed with a long arm. The gun was at point blank range on the soldier's head.

Mary putted her call on mute.

"One…"

The soldier looked at John and said, "You can't."

"Two…"

The soldier looked at Myers who had her mouth half open with a worried expression.

John pulled back the trigger on the gun and said without expression.

"Thr…" he was interrupted.

"WAIT… Wait," the soldier shouted, breathing heavily.

"I'm still at three, but since I did not finish, I'll give you this last chance, I suggest that you speak quickly and clearly before I shoot you on principle alone." The gun was still pointed at his head.

"He is being transported to the highway to get him out of London then to a private airfield to be taken out of the country to one of Ayyad's locations. I don't know which one. I swear to you that, that is all that I know."

Agents' shouts were heard and Mary shouted back. Mary ran up to John and put a hand on his arm and said quietly, "It's time to put up your gun, John." she looked toward the door.

John made no move to take the gun away but instead frowned as he pushed it into the soldier skin, grinding slightly. The soldier winced. John locked eyes with the soldier ignoring the agents that came into the room.

They noticed John still having the gun to the suspect's head and one went to question Myers who simply held up one finger to silent him.

"Since you knew so much about me, and you obviously knew we were coming, tell me this, what are you not saying? Whoever is giving you the information would have told you that there is a lockdown of the city and surrounding areas. Why do you think that you would make it on the highway, unchecked?"

The soldier said nothing.

John simply raised his eyebrows.

The soldier sighed, "Not all vehicles are being stopped."

John's eyes widen, "Which direction?"

The soldier told him everything. Agents talked on their phones relaying the information. More people were coming in and out now. The room was becoming crowded. John ran to the corner and picked up the coat before running off.

Myers looked at John and made an instant decision; she quickly put one of the agents in charge and ran after John.

As she caught up with John she said, "You do know that, that coat is evidence."

"He loves this coat." John said nothing more on the subject, as if his words should be enough of a justification for his actions.

Myers sighed but said nothing else about the coat; she chose to change the subject.

"What did you say to him?" Myers was curious.

"I told him that I've already killed to save Sherlock and if necessary I'll do it again." John's face was still unreadable.

Mary glance at him then glanced away. "Good bluff, I almost believed you."

John said nothing but started a light jog. He pulled out his phone with his free hand as he juggled the coat and phone without slowing his pace.

Myers wordlessly started to jog beside him as she pulled out a torch and turned it on. She glanced at John as he spoke on the phone. She now came to the conclusion that it was not a bluff.

* * *

><p>AN: a torch can also be called a flashlight.


	101. Chapter 97

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 97

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~<strong>_

Tommy Lasorda

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Donovan picked up her ringing mobile phone as she spotted two figures, and the up and down bobbing of light in the distance. Donovan and the two agents had their torches because of the dark sky. "Yes… (Longer pause)… which direction and highway... (Pause)… what about you… (shorter pause) … alright."

"Come on," she said as she turned around and jogged back toward the car.

"What about Doctor Watson?" One agent asked, "Mr. Holmes wanted us to pick him up."

"Well **Doctor Watson** wants us to split up so that we can cover more ground, I think he has a point."

Donovan got on the phone to Lestrade. None of the agents said anything else but ran in silence toward the car.

Lestrade answered his phone it was Donovan, "Sherlock is in an ambulance sir… "

* * *

><p><em>Fifteen Minutes Earlier<em>

Němec and his driver drove down a disreputable part of town located on the outskirts of London. They were following an ambulance.

Although he would not admit it to anyone, Sherlock Holmes had not turned out to be as he had anticipated him to be. He had underestimated both the man and the people who were trying to get him back.

He had seen two police vehicles in the last half an hour. He just met up with the ambulance fifteen minutes ago. He would not let the ambulance out of his sight.

Inside the ambulance that Sherlock was imprisoned in, chaos was taking place. The driver periodically glanced back because of the disturbance in the rear, but he knew that stopping to help was not an option until they were safely away from the area. They had not been able to get restraints over the wild man nor were they able to inject him with more drugs.

The one soldier who tried to inject him with a double dose lay helpless and unconscious on the floor after Homes managed to free his hands and push the needle plunger into the soldier before he could push it into him. They left the warehouse so quickly; one dose was all they had. In truth, they did not think that more would be needed. It has been just one man against four.

They were wrong.

Sherlock fought wildly and without restraint. Even though only Ayyad, Němec, or Veselý, were allowed to _touch _or_ play_ with Sherlock; the soldiers' tempers got the better of them .There were punches being thrown on both sides now. Sherlock punched, bit, kicked, and elbowed; he refused to stop moving, and gave no signs of slowing down.

The soldiers were furious, frustrated, and miserable. One, in a fit of rage, pulled out his gun. This little distraction caused the soldier's hands to loosen around Sherlock who used the opportunity to grab at the gun. Both Sherlork and the soldier wrestled with the gun, neither one willing to let go. Rounds of bullets fired off into the enclosed space.

The driver panicked and pulled sharply into an alley when he heard two bullets being fired from the gun with a silencer on. There was a resulting grunt and the thud of flesh being hit.

Several more bullets were fired from the gun and one buzzed pass the drivers head and out the front window shattering a hole in it. In an instant, the driver leaned his whole body to the left to avoid being shot and crashed full speed into the wall of a building in the alley.

There was silence for a moment then three groans seem to echo at the same time. The driver was silent with open vacant eyes, the unconscious drugged soldier was silent, but the soldier who had a wound to his abdomen was moaning as well as the soldier with a bullet in his leg.

There was one more moan as well, Sherlock's. He blinked his eye several times, and looked around slightly dazed. His eye suddenly widened as one thought, two words, came to mind, _run_ and _fast. _The sound of a car backing up and turning into the alley punctuated that point.

He grunted with the effort of quickly exiting the ambulance and fleeing. Sherlock felt a slight stinging sensation in his side which he ignored.

A hand grabbed at him, Sherlock pulled away ripping the top buttons on his dress shirt and exposing his upper chest. He felt the cold night air hit his chest and body as he scurried out of the ambulance. His ankle protested. His side burned. His head hurt. He ignored it all.

Sherlock ran.

Sherlock ran fast.


	102. Chapter 98

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 98

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

**Thanks** to: CrimsonKitsune333, LadyRavena, LePetitErik, kyoshizero, ds9jullian, princessangelwings, LogicandWonderland , eohippus, Mitaya, briongloid fiodoir, Sensue, Trinaluv33, socalrose, Prothoe , and Esstell for your recent post.

For those of you who have reviewed, thank you and a thousand cookies I was going to wait to put up the next post since I did a few chapters at a time but the following changed my mind. The last Chapter 97 review. Thanks you made me smile.

Prothoe's **teddy bear,** socalrose's **evil cliffie**, CrimsonKitsune333's **Gah!, **Esstell's **UaaaA!,** Mitaya's **keysmash of angst.**

Ok I admit it, the kittens got to me too. I hope you all enjoy.

Btw apologies if I said anything insane when responding to any post. Four hours of sleep because of a birthday party, then work, and studies, catching up with reading some fanfic, need I say more? Love you all.

Keep commenting please!

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~<strong>_

Tommy Lasorda

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Němec's driver, saw the ambulance turn into the alley but it was so sudden and unexpected that he could do nothing about it. He had to pass, back up, and then entered the alley.

The figure of a man was seen running away from the ambulance.

They were both stunned for a moment then a curse was heard from Němec. A car door opened and closed in the back as Němec ran after the figure, gun in hand.

The driver ran up to his associates in the ambulance.

One of the wounded soldiers in the ambulance was speaking angrily, one looked unconscious another was heavily bleeding and would soon be unconscious. The soldier in the front seat was already dead. The driver took out his gun, pointing.

The angry soldier with the leg wound eyes became wide.

The driver looked. These were the people that he had worked with for years. One even owed him money. He knew the police would probably find the ambulance within the hour and there was no safe way to get the bleeding and dying men out.

Too bad, thought the driver.

"Promiňte, ale znal jste rizika," the driver said just above a whisper. Several shots were rapidly fired in the ambulance.

The driver sighed; he wished that he had been repaid his money first.

He followed behind Němec who was already a distance away. He could not even see Holmes.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was starting to breathe heavily. He pushed his body beyond the limit and was feeling the effects of it. He did not bother glancing back; he heard the footsteps.<p>

Normally, no one could catch Sherlock while he was in a full on run, but fatigue, residual effects of the drug, and having his body batter for hours on end was taking its toll.

Whoever was behind him was gaining. One advantage he had was that, Sherlock could tell by the sound of the shoes that they were dressed shoes and not made to run in. Sherlock's other advantage was that even his dress shoes were made for the outdoors and for running.

Sherlock had learned the wisdom of this long ago. He did a lot of running chasing suspects and occasionally being chased.

Sherlock knew that he could not outrun him much longer in his current condition.

Sherlock jumped and pulled on a fire escape ladder and climbed up rapidly. He pulled on a window in the empty office building.

It would not open so Sherlock used his back arm and elbow to break the glass. He quickly opened the window and scampered in tearing his shirt sleeve and barely cutting the back of one arm.

He ran through the floor looking for a phone, another way out, a place to hide and catch his breath, a potential weapon, for anything helpful. Unfortunately, the entire floor looked as if it was being renovated.

There was not even much furniture to hide behind.

Sherlock heard the distinct tap of dress shoes coming from outside of the window. He then heard a second pair of shoes.

Sherlock glanced further down the hallway to where the lift was and knew that he would not make it to the lift. Sherlock realized, that considering the renovation, the lift might not even be working.

He looked down the corridor. The stairs were at the end of the building, he definitely would not make it to the stairs.

His mind worked rapidly.

Sherlock knew that they would have a gun. Even worse, the building was dimly lit with its night-lights on.

He could not even hide in the dark.

Sherlock picked a close room and ran into it.

* * *

><p>Author's note:<p>

1. "**Promiňte, ale znal jste rizika**," is translated to, **"Sorry, you knew the risks**."

2. A lift is an elevator.


	103. Chapter 99

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 99

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~<strong>_

Tommy Lasorda

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock looked in the room. There was no phone. There were no weapons.

Sherlock looked out the window. He knew he could not survive a five-story drop. He looked to see if there was any way to go on the ledge and climb to another window, there was about two yards between the very narrow ledges. Not a good chance but Sherlock considered it his best albeit risky prospect.

The window was stuck and he did not want to break glass and in doing so alert the men chasing him. He was about to break it anyway when footsteps and heavy breathing was heard behind him.

Sherlock stopped and suddenly swung his body around.

"Mr. Holmes, " an angry voice said.

Sherlock looked warily from one face to the other. In a moment, he had processed where to best strike should he get the chance.

Němec and his driver rushed toward Sherlock at the same time. Němec became desperate as thoughts of a very angry general came to his mind.

He was ordered to turn Sherlock over alive in twelve hour for Ayyad to personally deal with him.

In the unlikely event that he could not be transported to the plane, there was a backup plan.

Němec was to torture Sherlock to the brink of death, permanently cripple him, and finally he was ordered to abuse Sherlock to the point of producing insanity, in no particular order.

He was then to be released as a broken shell of a man. This was to serve as a warning to anyone who would dare to come against Ayyad.

Thoughts of he himself being promoted instead of Veselý had filled Němec's mind. This had caused him to act boldly with Holmes kidnapping.

Němec once thought this easy, now there were doubts.

How this one man had managed to stand before Němec, despite being previously tortured, drugged and injured puzzled Němec. Yet, Holmes stood before him, ready to go down fighting.

He made a decision and pulled out his gun. It was not quite following orders but Němec could argue the point that a shot man was better than an escaped one. Even if he were punished, Němec thought, at least they would not kill him as long as Holmes was dead.

Sherlock Holmes was not the only determined one in that room.

Sherlock had both hands extended away from his body. His eye traveled from man to man. His face was unreadable.

Sherlock stood still while breathing heavily, the harsh sounds of him inhaling and exhaling filled the room. Sherlock glanced at the only entrance to the room and back to one man then the other again.

He ran toward Sherlock pulling out his gun as his driver ran and tried to circle around Holmes back.

Němec's eyes widen in surprise as Sherlock suddenly ran toward him, meeting him and twisting his body quickly to the side, hitting Němec's face with one hand, as he grabbed for the gun that was coming toward his chest with the other. Both men wrestled for control of the gun as Sherlock twisted it up and away from his chest.

The gun now came in-between their bodys as they struggled. The driver almost reached out to grab Sherlock when a deafening, popping sound filled the room. A cry of pain echoed in the closed space as a body slumped into the two men knocking into them.

The body lay on the ground, but it was ignored as struggling, both men fell.

* * *

><p><em>Humph<em>.

The sound of air violently expelled from the lungs filled the room. Both men were stunned for a second. Then both men noticed the gun between them. Both bodies moved with speed.

Sherlock was faster.

Sherlock pointed the gun at the soldier.

Sherlock pointed the gun at his chest with a voice that held both danger and anger and said breathlessly, " Seeing as… you've rid me of my phone…, I'll have your phone…, **slowly**…, one hand behind your back…, **now.**"

Němec grunted then slowly took out his phone and slid it across the floor.

Němec looked at Sherlock who was breathing heavily. A bruise was starting to form on his jaw and chin and around his split and bleeding lips. It stood out again his pale skin. Heavy sweat had formed on Sherlock's neck and face. The sweat plastered Sherlock's torn dress shirt to his body. He assessed Sherlock silently.

He noticed the slight shaking to his hands when Holmes had taken up the mobile phone with one hand and kept the gun trained on him with the other, and he was leaning heavily on one leg. Finally, Němec noticed the occasional grimace on his features; pain, the soldier decided.

Němec almost smiled as he tensed his muscles. The soldier thought to himself, "Maybe it I…"

"Ah, ah, ah… I wouldn't do that if I were you…," Sherlock interrupted his thoughts, "… you are correct in what you're thinking. I am traumatized and still injured. Nevertheless, you still cannot move faster that a bullet. Now, sit down on your hands… slowly, before my shaking hands slip and shoot you between the eyes. Quite accidentally of course."

Sherlock was aiming for his head now.

The soldier frowned then looked into Holmes eyes for the first time. What Němec saw settle his mind.

So, the soldier lowered himself to the ground… slowly.

The soldier sat on his hands.

The waiting soldier sighed as he heard the wail of sirens drawing closer.

When he had looked into Holmes eyes expecting to see weakness, he was shocked to see steel like strength.

Němec decided regretfully to himself that Veselý was right; he was a fool.


	104. Chapter 100

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 100

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

****Request alert**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it<strong>_." ~ Buddha

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

John's face looked blank as Myers and he rode in the car. He was on the internet looking up private runways for airplanes and Myers was talking to agents. A call came in from a number that John did not recognize. He ignored it and continued to search the internet.

The phone rang again, and again he ignored it. The third time that it rang he frowned and picked it up angry for the interruption when he was trying to find Sherlock. He thought briefly about ignoring it again then thought better since it may have been related to Sherlock.

"Hello," John said impatiently. John then just listened for a few moments, emotions danced across his face for the first time in hours. "Can you hang on...? (pause)…., I'm, we're, on our way." The call was disconnected.

"Who was that?" Myers asked with the phone still pressed to her ear.

John smiled amazed, "Sherlock again."

They both made hurried phone calls.

* * *

><p>Lestrade turned to the back seat of the car to glance at Mycroft who phone rang. Lestrade phone rang a second later. A cold chill ran through Lestrade, as his phone rang for the second time unanswered. He swallowed hard and pushed the button on his mobile while speaking. "Lestrade here." Lestrade listened for a moment and simply said, "I see," then hung up the phone looking straight ahead. He told the driver a location and to hurry but remained quiet for a few moments.<p>

Mycroft ended his call and stared silently out the window. Anthea and McMullen, the young police officer who was driving glanced at the two men curiously but remained quiet and waited.

Mycroft cleared his throat before speaking.

"I believe that you received a similar message from John that I received from Myers."

Lestrade glanced back, biting his lip briefly before commenting. "I'm not sure Mr. Holmes. Would that message be and I do repeat a quote, 'Come rescued him, if we are quite finished with our tea and crumpets.' Is that the message you are referring to Mr. Holmes."

"That would be the one, Detective Inspector."

"Then your answer is yes, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade smiled now. He had expected the phone call to say that Holmes was dead or his broken body and mind was found, or worse that Ayyad had him out of the country and fully under his control.

The relief of a sarcastic and annoyed Sherlock made Lestrade's professional exterior break and he started to laugh. First quietly then the laughing became louder and a bit uncontrollable. The fact that three sets of eyes were looking at him did not stop him.

Lestrade, in his mind could visualize an impatient Sherlock with a gun held to the head of his confused former captor; who was probably left wondering, how in the world Sherlock managed to get the upper hand.

Lestrade wiped at the tears in his eyes with his hand. He managed to get himself under control when he spotted Mycroft's raised eyebrow and that started him off laughing again.

Mycroft turned toward the window with a hand covering his mouth. Mycroft however could not disguise his own smile. That was classic Sherlock, Mycroft thought to himself.


	105. Chapter 101

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 101

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it<strong>_." ~ Buddha

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Donovan was the closes to the scene and arrived first. Within minutes, the wrath of England descended on the building. Many were still on their way including Lestrade, Mycroft, and John.

Donovan ordered the suspect to be taken away. Sherlock now stood there among everyone. Officers were busy securing the scene or doing some other task.

Sherlock took everything in every sound, scent, sight.

He suddenly felt. Sherlock realized not only was he feeling, he was feeling quite alone despite being in a room full of people. His face held a look that projected boredom. However, it was a defense. John would have seen through it, he always did.

His hands were in his trouser pockets. He had the ugly orange shock blanket on his shoulder. Sherlock normally would have thrown it off by now, but today he would keep it on a little longer. He was suddenly a bit cold. He was exhausted but put up a brave front. Sherlock felt a headache coming on.

Anderson was in the background. Sherlock noticed that he almost looked disappointed that he was not the one in the body bag.

Sherlock looked down and sighed.

Sherlock then saw Donovan walking up to him. He heaved a sigh again. He thought to himself that he should probably prepare one or two witty retorts for her usual freak comment that he supposed was coming.

"Ah, Donovan," Sherlock said. However, he found it difficult to muster his usual level of sarcasm.

She surprised him by coming up to him and putting her hands on his arms. She asked quietly, "You okay Sherlock?"

Sherlock was prepared.

He was prepared for guns, insults, bullies, even bombs, and the worst that life could throw at him. However, Sherlock was not prepared for kindness, or concern. He, who had a witty response for everything, had no comeback for her words.

Sherlock looked in her eyes, and could see no beguile or deception, only concern.

Sherlock searched for the words. "I'm… alright I think." He offered a small smile. Then his face took on a serious look. He tilted his head and looked at Donovan, studied Donovan.

"Good, no one messes with our freak," her word held no sting. Instead, there was affection.

Donovan tipped on her toes and was careful to kissed Sherlock on the cheek that was not bruised.

At Sherlock's raised eyebrows, Donovan added, "Don't look so shocked, it's not the first time we've kissed, is it."

A look of amusement crossed Sherlock's face before he recovered, and a serious look took its place. It was too late however Donovan saw it.

Donovan looked at the ground for a second then looked up being careful to look Sherlock in the eyes, allowing him to see the truth of her words.

"I am deeply, completely, and sincerely sorry for what we've put you through, for what I've put you through." Donovan gave his arm a squeeze and added before leaving. "Please don't tell John I used the word freak, I wouldn't want my body to turn up floating in the Thames in the morning."

Donovan paused briefly and smiled, "I'm very happy that you're ok." She looked into his eyes for a few moments longer and then turned and walked away.

Sherlock watched her walk away.

She turned and walked up to another officer with whom she had a conversation and gave directions.

Sherlock heard the phone Donovan had given him earlier ring; he looked at it, then smiled and answered. "Hello… (pause)… John…, yes I'm ok…"

Sherlock never noticed Anderson glaring in the background.


	106. Chapter 102

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 102

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it<strong>_." ~ Buddha

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

_Twelve Minutes Later._

John walked in and saw Sherlock on the floor. He closed his eyes and said a silent thank you while looking up. Most of the room had cleared now except for a few officers and Anderson who was about to leave. The body and suspect had already been transported.

One male and one female emergency worker were in the corner eyeing Sherlock suspiciously. They were apparently waiting for Sherlock to pass out or collapse so that they would have a right to take him to the hospital. As John looked at Sherlock he considered the fact that they may not have long to wait.

John considered Sherlock quietly for a moment. John was surprised that he found Sherlock on the floor sitting. He normally would not sit on the floor in public since he considered it undignified. There was no furniture in the room. It demonstrated how tired he was.

Sherlock sat on the floor with his head leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He had one leg straight. His other leg was bent at the knee. The top of Sherlock's shirt was open at the chest and missing buttons. His shirt sleeve had a rip on one arm with a small amount of blood on that arm and shirt. His face sported a new bruise and new split lip. His hair was also more unruly than normal.

Two things surprised John; one was then he still had the orange shock blanket on, the other was that he had at least let the emergency workers dress his right side. John was told the it was a bullet that had luckily just superficially grazed his side.

He sighed again and walked over next to Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes remained closed. John thought for a moment then lowered himself to sit on the floor next to Sherlock.

Mycroft considered the two briefly then he continued his conversation on the phone.

Sherlock's eyes remained close.

Sherlock spoke without opening his eyes.

"The next time that I call you John Watson, answer the phone," Sherlock replied calmly.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I was researching private airfield within a specific radius. I had a crazy idea that they were going to take you there and try to get you out of the country."

Sherlock opened one eye then the other and looked at John.

"Headache?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded once. This made him grimace. He thought it wise to speak an answer after that and said, "Yes."

''Actually from what I've overheard in the ambulance, they were headed there before they were… stopped. Very good, John."

John waited for the usual unintentional insult the followed a compliment but it never came.

John frowned, "How bad is that headache?"

"Can I not give a compliment?" Sherlock sighed long-sufferingly.

"Yeah…, sorry." John smiled now.

John was almost afraid to say it. He looked at Mycroft who raised an eyebrow but kept talking on the phone. He then looked at Lestrade who nodded but made no move to come closer.

"Cowards," John thought to himself. John took a deep breath then opened his mouth.

"No," Sherlock interrupted with his eyes closed again.

"You've been drugged, shot…," at Sherlock's raised eyebrow John clarified, "… ok, grazed with a bullet. I'm sure that you've managed to leak all the fluids out that was put back into you earlier, you're sweating like a pig. I'm sure you've re-injured your ribs and you're breathing so harshly, I can hear it." John wanted to say more but thought it best to stop there.

"Are you done?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

"Hum, let me think about it…, noooo." Sherlock opened one eye again then the other. He pointedly looked at Mycroft then Lestrade. Mycroft chose that moment to turn his back and end his call. Lestrade found the door to the hallway suddenly fascinating.

"Ok," John said as he pursed his lips and sat cross-ankled beside Sherlock.

Sherlock sat quietly for a few minutes until he could not stand it and said.

"That's it?" Sherlock asked.

"That's it," John confirmed.

John gesture with his head to the corner of the room where the emergency personnel were. "By the way, why are they looking terrified?"

Sherlock smiled for the first time, "That's my secret."

"You let them put dressings on the side with the bullet wounded… um, I mean where the bullet grazed you." John stated surprised.

"I thought that I could hold it over your head and that it would help me with my, _see I don't need the hospital John_, argument," Sherlock replied honestly.

"Oh" John looked over to the two emergency personnel still in the corner. They looked like petulant children that had been punished and were waiting for permission to come out.

John sighed, "You do know terrifying them will make it harder for me to sweet-talk supplies out of them."

Sherlock looked at them and looked at John with a raised eyebrow, "Don't worry, you'll be successful when you ask for the supplies, John."

John was curious. "Why?"

"You are being…," Sherlock looked up briefly. Sherlock searched his data for an acceptable word or phrase,… "Checked out… sexually." Sherlock added smirking now. "They're **both **looking your way John, take your pick, maybe both." Sherlock was now fully smiling.

John looked in the corner.

"Smile John, tell them you're a doctor, say your friend is a bit of a nutter. It'll work." Sherlock instructed.

"So, you're saying, tell the truth." John asked with a suddenly serious face.

Despite Sherlock's glare, he had a half smile on his face.

John raised himself up and walked off to the corner.

Mycroft headed over to Sherlock. He leaned against the wall and had one hand on his umbrella. He looked down at Sherlock. "I made sure that they swept your flat to make sure that it was not bugged. It was cleared. We can head there now."

Sherlock looked up, curious. "You ran recently."

Mycroft said nothing he only looked at Sherlock.

"Um, thank you Mycroft, I mean for everything." Sherlock did not look away from his brother's eyes.

Mycroft frowned slightly, "Sherlock do you realize that you've just said thank you?"

"I was drugged. Strictly speaking, I'm not responsible for my actions." Sherlock offered.

Sherlock hesitated slightly before adding, "Mycroft… do you realize that you let me have my way without world war three breaking out between us."

"As you pointed out, dear brother, I ran. You know how much sweat disorients me."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he smiled. He noticed John walking back with a bag of supplies.

Lestrade was walking back after ending a call.

Mycroft looked at the three men and said, "Let's go, shall we."

"Sorry Mycroft, there's one small problem," Sherlock said hoping only they could hear, "I cannot seem to get up."

Both John and Mycroft looked at Sherlock.

Lestrade reached and then asked, "Problem?"

"I can't seem to get up; I've informed my body of its traitorous nature. It doesn't seem to care."

"Oh," Lestrade said. John, Mycroft, and Lestrade looked at each other.

Mycroft and John put out a hand.

Sherlock sighed, extended one hand to Mycroft's and one hand to John

Sherlock grunted as he was pulled up. Lestrade helped as well. They had to practically lift Sherlock to his feet.

"Ok," John asked a little concerned. He knew that any adrenaline had left. He could tell that Sherlock was crashing physically.

"I need a second," Sherlock blinked away the dizziness. He was grateful that most of the people were gone, especially Anderson.

The four men did not realize or notice what the few people still in the room did. The three men had formed a protective cluster around Sherlock. Mycroft positioned himself to Sherlock's right. John positioned himself on Sherlock's left, and Lestrade positioned himself directly behind.

They moved slowly. Sherlock was limping slightly again.

"Oy, wait a minute," John said while holding up one finger. He jogged back to one officer and retrieved an object then ran back. He extended his arm to Sherlock.

Sherlock stared as he swallowed hard with emotion and looked at John.

"Thought you might need this," John shrugged.

Sherlock nodded wordlessly as he held John's gaze for a moment. Then he smiled gratefully a real smile that few ever saw but John. One that was not calculating or manipulative. The smile lit up Sherlock's face and melted the sarcasm, harshness, and hardness away. He looked his age with that smile.

He looked at the orange shock blanket and let it fall where he stood. Lestrade helped him into his coat.

He nodded again at John.

For John, his smile was more than thanks enough and he smiled back. John suddenly looked apologetic and said, "Sorry Sherlock, I did not see your scarf."

"Oh it's on my ankle." Sherlock responded simply. John frowned confused but said nothing. He took up his position again and they started to move.

"Oh Mycroft, I'll need a new phone immediately."

"Sherlock you can use one of mine temporarily."

"I need **my** phone with **my** number in it. I need to be able to … text."

Mycroft sighed, "Give me three days Sherlock and you'll have it."

"One Mycroft, You can have them install your entire _spy on your brother gadgets_ faster than that. Have the GPS installed faster."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "One day," he agreed.

Lestrade agreed to drive.

* * *

><p>AN: a nutter is a crazy person.


	107. Chapter 103

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 103

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong>Hi everyone<strong>, I just wanted to mention that I am writing the final chapters. I will not say how many are left. Just know that it is coming up, relax, and enjoy. I will clearly mark it, _the end_.

Thank you for your reviews and support of a new writer, please keep them coming, when I am tired it encourages me to keep going. I type faster when I realize that the stories are being enjoyed. I feel like I know many of you. (Smile)

To those who have never yet commented, it is never too late.

****To my regular family, thanks**. Special thanks to Esstell for pointing out and looking over Czech grammar for me.

* Request alert.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>What<strong>_ _**lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."**_ ~Henry S. Haskins, _Meditations in Wall Street_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

_An Hour Earlier_

Earlier, Veselý had waited a distance away. He had circled the block of streets twice in a car and once on foot being careful not to draw attention to himself. Němec had apparently killed his own men that were in the ambulance. Veselý understood that it was necessary but it still left a bad taste in his mouth. He was now standing on the corner.

He had been there when Němec was taken out. He had taken a risk and walked by without slowing his pace just to look at him. Němec noticed him. It was just the slightest shifting of the eyes but he knew that Veselý was there to see him fall.

Good.

Němec did not give Veselý away. There are certain lines that not even Veselý would cross, despite their disagreement.

Němec was put in a black car, government issued. Veselý certainly thought that the current situation explains why he had dared to not show up for their meeting with the general.

He now waited to see Holmes exit.

When he was taken back to the hospital, he would try to abduct him again. They would never expect another attempt so soon.

With Holmes, a smart plan was better than a rushed one.

Most of the police and agents were gone. The ambulance had been there for quite a long time. The soldier grew impatient and was on his third cigarette.

Feeling more comfortable now that most of the agents and police were gone, he moved closer. He easily blended into the small group that had gathered and watched curiously behind police tape.

Veselý briefly wondered if maybe Holmes was dead, he did see a body bag leave earlier. He smiled at the thought.

Even though his superiors wanted him alive so that an example could be made out of him and questions answered, he personally thought that they were being foolish. He had always thought that Holmes was much too dangerous to breathe.

The higher ups did not agree. Their pride and need for entertainment would be their downfall one day, Veselý had often thought.

As time passed the soldier's smile broadened. The contact was unavailable now or he would have known more about what was occurring inside. Maybe Holmes would not need the ambulance after all. He felt like skipping all the way to the plane, and leaving as soon as possible if this was true.

This assignment has brought him nothing but trouble.

Veselý took out his cigarette pack while he considered lighting another cigarette but stilled suddenly. Someone was coming the soldier noticed, and he was not alone.

Not someone, the soldier corrected himself, but Holmes and Holmes was…, walking.

If it was not so dark, someone may have noticed Veselý's slightly opened mouth.

A group surrounding Holmes.

The tall unpleasant looking fellow with an umbrella was looking around, watchful. He walked beside Holmes. The soldier frowned angrily. It was the same man who was at the park the day he had intended to abduct Holmes.

The Inspector walked at Holmes's back. In addition, the soldier, Watson walked to his other side.

This has been only the second time since being assigned to Holmes that Veselý noticed Holmes not being alert. The first time was in the park when Holmes seemed driven and the second, now.

Today was different somehow. Today it seemed that Holmes did not feel the need to be alert. Holmes felt safe and … protected, the soldier realized.

He had three men that he trusted to watch for him.

He seemed to be concentrating on walking. He was obviously about to collapse.

Veselý thought that now would be a good time to make lemons into lemonade, so to speak.

Now would be a perfect time to abduct him, Veselý commented to himself with dry humor. The only problem Veselý could see with that plan was the three men around Holmes.

Anyone of those three men looked as if they, without hesitation, would kill him dead before he got within a yard of Holmes.

Ok, not such a good plan then, Veselý thought as he sighed.

Veselý cursed, a bystander glanced at him then looked away as he smiled an apology.

The man had too many people who were as motivated to keep him safe as Ayyad was motivated to take him.

Veselý suddenly stilled as he wondered, what would happen if that fact could be used against Holmes.

The soldier suddenly smiled as he watched the car drive away with a government car following behind.

There was no need to follow; he knew where Holmes lived.

He walked away.


	108. Chapter 104

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 104

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>What<strong>_ _**lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."**_ ~Henry S. Haskins, _Meditations in Wall Street_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Fifteen minutes into the drive and Sherlock was nodding. A quick trip to the chemist (pharmacy) and Sherlock was frowning and reluctantly taking two pills. Sherlock eyes were slits. Sherlock never admitted to being tired, but to everyone in the car, it was obvious.

A black car trailed close behind the police car with three of Mycroft's agents in it. The occupants of the black car were trying to make their presence known instead of blending in. This was a warning to anyone who might be tempted to make a second try or consider the present a time of weakness.

John could not seem to stop looking to the back seat. It was almost as if he needed constant reassurance that Sherlock was still there.

Lestrade would also frequently glance in the rearview mirror at Sherlock.

Mycroft almost made a mental comment about the overemotional state of the common masses until he realized with some private embarrassment that he was doing the same thing.

One of Mycroft's top men call in a report that Sherlock Holmes should be watched closely for the next forty–eight hours, while several terrorist cells worldwide and in London were taken out completely.

Mycroft quietly ended the call and hung up. He did not realize that he had a scowl on his face.

Sherlock's eyes were still narrowed into slits, but now his head would nod sharply as suddenly his chin dropped to his chest. The action would abruptly wake him up temporarily.

Within ten minutes, the process would repeat.

Mycroft shook his head. It reminded him of when Sherlock was a child. He would do the same thing. He has always fought against sleep. Now that he considered it, Mycroft admitted to himself that Sherlock fought against many things. It was probably the reason that he was alive and sitting next to him in the back seat of a car instead of… Mycroft did not want to think of the instead of.

John from the front seat had turned around and noticed curiously then smiled.

"Sherlock, why don't you lay back?" John asked

"Hum," Sherlock asked sleepily.

"I said; why don't you lay back? I'll wake you when we're home."

Sherlock's lips sticking out in a pout was his only answer.

John sighed at the sight of Sherlock locked in stubborn mode. John doubted that anything that Sherlock would do tonight would annoy him, but he had to admit the possibility.

This was Sherlock.

He could imagine a young Sherlock doing the same thing and fighting such a simple thing like sleep.

John knew Sherlock well; when he was overly tired or felt threatened, his stubbornness came out more. Sherlock refused to lie back against the car seat because he was fighting sleep all the way.

As John gave up and turned around, he thought about one fact. If nothing else, Sherlock was both brilliant and a fighter.

John would have been amused if he knew that Mycroft was thinking similar thoughts.


	109. Chapter 105

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 105

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>What<strong>_ _**lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."**_ ~Henry S. Haskins, _Meditations in Wall Street_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Mycroft looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, and looked out the opposite window as they approached the city. The lights outside the car reflected across Sherlock's face as the car passed various light sources.

He was still worried about Sherlock. His trip to Vienna had confirmed his suspicions.

Ayyad's reach went further than anyone first believed even himself.

Well, Mycroft thought almost everyone, but not Sherlock.

Many and not limited to Ayyad; began to suspect that one person had been the cause of the sudden and costly interruptions to criminal networks in Europe mostly, but also other continents.

Sherlock's anonymity had been his safety.

Bored Sherlock had apparently been bad for criminal businesses.

However, with the capture and detention by Ayyad for two weeks, even those who are dull at mind eventually connected the dots.

They realized that there was a two-week period of reprieve from the police and other agency. This was due to Sherlock's inability to anonymously tip them. This was a side effect of his public resurrection.

To anyone who cared to look, the timing had fit.

It took much of Mycroft's considerable power and favors to prevent the press release announcing Sherlock's resurrection from becoming a global event, as it was going to be at first.

Mycroft managed to have the event downplayed to more local verses global news.

The information about Sherlock's resurrection was hidden in a _matter of fact_ way, in-between local news and commercials.

Among criminal organizations, the name of Sherlock Holmes was now well known over the last month and some weeks.

That was the reason for Mycroft's personal trip to assess what damage had been done and how best to handle the situation and threats.

He would not tell Sherlock now; he needed to rest, to feel safe, and to heal.

He wondered how Sherlock would react if he brought up the subject of protected custody again.

A part of Mycroft wished for Sherlock's sake that he was still believed to be dead by the public.

Mycroft knew that eventually Sherlock would have forgiven him, and informed him that he was alive, after he sarcastically informed him that someone of his superior intellect should have figured it out beforehand of course.

Mycroft smiled at the notion.

His smile faded.

Mycroft glanced at John. Despite his brother's protest, there was an emotional component to his decision to resurrect himself, and he was sitting in the front passenger seat and had blonde hair. Sherlock had not come back until he tracked down the man who was assigned to shoot John. He did not consider his own safety only Johns.

Afterward, Sherlock was not willing to cause John needless pain, by him thinking Sherlock was dead any longer than necessary.

Mycroft wondered if his brother sported a bruise to his jaw the day he informed John that he was alive.

Sherlock despite his claim of needing no one needed John. From what he saw, John needed him just as desperately.

Sherlock cared about other people. He has even demonstrated in very painful ways that he was willing to give-up his life for them. Still, no one could ever take John's place. John had demonstrated that he felt the same about Sherlock.

They were likened to Siamese twins, attached somehow. There was nothing sexual about their relationship but it was still a love affair, not one of the bodies but of the heart.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock looked at Mycroft appearing a little more alert. How long have Sherlock been deducing him, Mycroft wondered.

"A little more awake?" Mycroft asked with a smile but it did not reach his eyes. There was no point in putting on a mask.

"Some," Sherlock admitted. He looked intently at Mycroft who refused to look away.

Sherlock was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Are you ready to tell me what happened while you were away? Is there anything I need to know?"

"Just the dull and boring to use your words," Mycroft kept eye contact.

Mycroft knew that Sherlock could see through him. He also knew that he had a certain amount of time that Sherlock would allow him, before he privately demanded for him to tell him what was occurring.

It was their way.

* * *

><p>John who was drifting off to sleep himself revived at the sound of voices.<p>

After a moment of silence, John turned and looked back.

"Sherlock I should probably warn you, when we get back to the flat there a strong possibility that you're getting a hug… so I thought I would warn you so that you could… prepare yourself."

Sherlock's sleepy eyes became large. He looked at John in the eyes before saying suddenly loud. "You're serious."

"Yea… sorry… I am." John kept looking back.

"Lestrade," Sherlock pleaded.

"Sorry mate, I'm afraid one's coming from me too." Lestrade glanced in the rear view mirror with a smirk.

Sherlock looked at his brother with pleading eyes. Mycroft offered no support but smiled a real smile now. Mycroft was finding the entire event amusing.

"Fine," Sherlock eyes narrowed, "be warned, I am trained in arm-to-arm combat and I am not afraid to use it."

Everyone was silent for a moment before John spoke with a determined look.

"Still getting the hug, Sherlock."

"Me too," Lestrade warned with a toothy grin.

Sherlock grunted but said nothing else.

"Sherlock," John looked down now with guilt, "since we're confessing all, Mrs. Hudson is waiting for you at the flat…"

"I expected as much," Sherlock was relieved for a moment until he noticed John's face in the dim light.

"Tell," Sherlock said warily.

"Molly was so worried…" John started.

"**Molly ****Hooper****?**" Sherlock leaned forward to too fast and grimaced. True annoyance was now on his face.

"I talked her out of coming tonight, but she'll be there in the morning. Sherlock be warned she is in an especially cuddly mood." John thought he had been helpful and seemed proud of the minor accomplishment.

"I manage to know her for **six years** and have **avoided** contact." Sherlock said smugly.

"It that what you call your lips on her at the Christmas party?" John wondered aloud.

"Shut up." Sherlock pouted again.

"And, she's bringing cookie, Sherlock. Be warned again, she baked them…, **But**, she's had baking lessons since the Christmas party."

Lestrade interrupted the argument, "Come on guys be fair; I thought her cookies looked rather good."

Everyone looked at Lestrade and stopped speaking. Lestrade searched his mind wondering what he said before clarifying with a blush.

"I mean tasted good?" He tried. Everyone still looked at him.

"Bugger off," Lestrade said looking at the road with his own pout now.

"Lestrade maybe you should cuddle with Molly." Sherlock said a little too sweetly.

**"Repeat**…, Bugger…, Off." Lestrade was annoyed.

For some reason, this made Sherlock feel better. At least someone other than himself was distressed.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later and everyone was quiet. John had drifted off to sleep. It had been a physically and emotionally draining day for John as well. Sherlock once again nodded off.<p>

Mycroft sighed, "Why not," he whispered. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in question. Mycroft opened his arms stretching one arm behind Sherlock's back.

"You do know that you're initiating physical contact between us without weapons?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm game if you are." Mycroft motioned with his finger to come closer.

Surprising them both, Sherlock simply sighed resigned to his fate, then leaned his head back against Mycroft's shoulder. Soon his features became relaxed.

Sherlock had apparently managed to drift off to sleep while somehow managing to hold on to the edge of his brother's coat.

The last time Mycroft remembered hugging Sherlock was when Sherlock was eleven and decided that hugs were illogical and unnecessary. No one but Mummy received a hug after that, Mycroft remembered with a smile.

That was Sherlock.

Mycroft made a decision, but he had to be sure, "Sherlock," He whispered softly.

Mycroft received no answer. Convinced Sherlock was asleep, Mycroft leaned close and whispered into Sherlock's hair.

"I love you a little you moron," Mycroft sighed, "well, much more than a little, Lock." He kissed his head softly then laid his head back on the car seat, eyes still opened.

After a long moment, he heard the softest of voices whisper back, "Love you too Myc, by the way, you're an idiot." Soon Sherlock's breathing came slower and his hands loosen on Mycroft's coat. Mycroft's hold tightened around his brother.

* * *

><p>In the early hours of the morning, they arrived at Baker Street.<p>

True to their word, Sherlock was ambushed with hugs and kisses from Mrs. Hudson.

John's and Lestrade's hugs followed close behind. Mycroft watched as he leaned against a wall.

Although Sherlock rolled his eyes and grunted protests, Mycroft noticed something curious about his brother.

Sherlock hugged back.

* * *

><p>**AN: Bugger off is used when frustrated and is as Sherlock would say, _a bit not good_, when used. **


	110. Chapter 106

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 106

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>A bend in the road is not the end of the road... unless you fail to make the turn.<strong>_"~Author Unknown

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

The general frowned as the soldier on the other end spoke in Czech, "Pane, utekli nám, ta holka i její strýc!" This was the third phone call in less than seventy-two hours.

The general closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of this nose.

The general sighed; he could not delay anymore.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, the general stood before the door to a room. He paused briefly then put a confident look on his face and turned the handle.<p>

Ayyad's back was to the door but he knew his general, the slight pause in his steps, he had news. Ayyad kept his back to the general as he practiced his golf swing.

"You have news," Ayyad said.

"_The girl has been rescued," There was no point in hesitating, the general thought._

"**And**," Ayyad swung the club.

"_Only two of the ten bombs in London exploded the rest were deactivated; only three deaths." The general said._

"**And**," Ayyad put down the club and walked over to his desk pulling out a gun and pulling out the silencer.

"_Several of our lower leveled men were captured, several more were killed," the general became slightly __nervous._

"**And**," Ayyad walked up to the general and looked him in the face for the first time, gun by his side.

The general swallowed but kept eye contact.

"_We cannot contact one of our guards, sir." The general looked grim._

"I want to shoot someone, bring me someone now or I may be tempted to shoot whoever happens to be around." Ayyad hissed dangerously. His eyes then narrowed. "There's something else isn't there?"

"_Four of our cell groups have been raided, half of our weapons were confiscated, three bank accounts were seized, and the guard we cannot contact was assigned to watch Mr. Green. Green has gone missing as well." Why not, the general thought, there was no point in delaying whatever was going to happen._

Ayyad pointed the gun at the general.

_The general held up one finger, "Sir there is one more thing."_

"**What!"** Ayyad raised his voice.

"_Sir, Green finished it," the general spoke quickly._

Then Ayyad lowered his gun and smiled.

"Lunch?" Ayyad asked.

"_Yes sir, how about Thai?"_

Ayyad nodded as he hummed happily to himself. Ayyad was looking forward to his evening** talk session** to **welcome** Holmes.

* * *

><p>As the general left the room to inform the chief to prepare lunch, he frowned deep in thought.<p>

The general passed several empty rooms before coming to one that was occupied. As he passed the room, the sounds of screaming were heard.

After a long walk, the general came to another room. He stopped briefly looking in and then started to walk again.

It was being prepared for Holmes.

He glanced in and looked at all the instruments, devices, and a table with ankle and wrist restraints attached.

Holmes was due to arrive in five hours. "Too bad," the general thought. "Ayyad always loved a little entertainment after lunch."

The general thought it was best to wait until after lunch to tell Ayyad about Holmes escaping, **and** Vienna.

The general stopped walking suddenly.

He thought for a minute. He had to remember to bring someone for Ayyad to shoot. Now that the general had a plan, he started walking again.

He wondered if the chef could prepare Panaeng, it was his favorite.

* * *

><p>AN:

1. "**Pane, utekli nám, ta holka i její strýc!**" is translated to** Sir they escaped, both the girl and her uncle**

2. **Panaeng** is a Thai dish of Meat in Spicy Coconut Cream sauce.


	111. Chapter 107

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 107

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, and favorite.

Two days worth of chapters, next update unsure. Please keep commenting it encouraging. Love to all.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, but through it all I still know quite certainly<strong>_

_**that just to be alive is a grand thing.**_**" **~Agatha Christie

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

John stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. At eleven in the morning, it was very late for him to be just waking up. He excused himself, he did not get a lot of sleep last night, or early in the morning for that matter.

They both did not get much sleep.

He was in Sherlock's bedroom. He looked over to the empty side of the bed where Sherlock had been hours earlier.

Sherlock had apparently already gotten up, dress and left the bedroom. John also wanted to shower and get dressed.

John sighed heavily; they would need to talk when Sherlock was ready. He would not allow Sherlock to lock his emotions away.

He would not allow Sherlock to pretend that last night never happened.

* * *

><p><em>Nine Hours Earlier that Morning<em>

John had had his own set of nightmare.

John dreamt that he was again in the last warehouse where he found Sherlock's coat. In the corner of the room, he found a naked Sherlock beaten and torture. When he ran to him, his feet were stuck to the cement floor. It was as if someone had glued it there.

He watched the two soldiers came into the room ignoring him; it was as if they could not see him. However, Sherlock could.

John was forced to watch helplessly as they tortured, abused, and did worse things to Sherlock.

Dream John was helpless and unable to help.

Sherlock stretched out one hand to John pleading for help. Sherlock tried not to scream but instead only called John's name with desperateness. Dream John struggled but was unable to get free. In the end, in his dream Sherlock started to scream, cry, while pleading with John to please help. John started crying while still struggling in his dream.

The dream ended abruptly when he woke violently from the dream world by sitting straight up in bed.

John's heart was pounding. He was surprised to find that there really were tears in his eyes. He was also surprised to hear Sherlock really crying out.

Sherlock was having nightmares again.

He made his way into Sherlock's room. Sherlock was muttering in a panic-stricken voice. He was so twisted in his sheets that they restrained his arms. He looked like a mummy. In any other circumstances, John would have found it amusing. But, a look at Sherlock's face punctuated the fact that it was not humorous.

John knew from personal experience to wake Sherlock careful. Even sleepy Sherlock had a decent punch.

"Sherlock wake…" John was careful to stand at his head and not next to his arms.

Sherlock moaned and started struggling more.

John always preferred to wake Sherlock gently but it now seemed more important to end his misery.

"Sherlock, **Sherlock**…." John firmly shook his shoulders.

"**John!"** Sherlock awakened with a startled gasp. He blinked back the last fog of the nightmare while he started to shake.

Sherlock was shaking and his eyes traveled in a jagged rhythm around the room while he tried to slow his breathing. Sherlock was still struggling against the sheets however. John took the opportunity while Sherlock was calming himself to get his attention.

"Sherlock," John waited until Sherlock was looking at him and showed recognition.

"John?" Sherlock looked at him now and stopped struggling against the sheets completely.

"Sherlock I'm going to touch you so that I can untangle the sheets, is that ok?"

Sherlock only swallowed hard but said nothing. He seemed to be still trying to process what was occurring.

John frowned.

Ever since his mind palace was repaired, he always recovered quickly the few times that he had a nightmare or flashback.

Whatever Sherlock was dreaming about must have been extremely unpleasant, John concluded. He swallowed hard as the images of his own nightmare were flesh on his mind.

"Sherlock I need you to answer me, is it okay to touch you so that I can untangle you from your sheets?" John tried to use a firm but reassuring voice.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered barely audible.

John nodded and proceeded to untangle Sherlock. John spoke softly about nothing in particular as he untangled the sheets. He had learned the sound of his voice calmed Sherlock during these episodes. He could feel Sherlock's tense muscles start to relax as he spoke.

When he was almost finished, he came to Sherlock's back. His tee shirt has ridden up exposing his back amongst the last of the tangled sheets.

John considered that most all of the cuts and scrapes and contusions were fully healed without scaring or discoloration of his skin. There were only three scars remaining. One was on the right side of his chest, a tiny one from surgery to repair the knife wound and the one John was looking at on his back.

The rest were healed without scarring. It was too early to tell about the bullet wound.

Sherlock was fortunate that despite his fair complexion, he rarely scared. John did notice new bruises on his back shoulder, chest and one side of his face. All of his former bruises were completely gone except for the faintest traces around his wrist, jaw line, rib area, and abdomen close to the surgical scar.

They were to John a vivid reminder of how much Sherlock had gone through lately.

"All done," John, said as a matter of fact.

Sherlock sat up and fixed his twisted tee shirt. He looked at John, "Um… John…"

"You're welcome," John knew Sherlock was grateful. "Do you think that you can get back to sleep?"

Sherlock said nothing but looked at John and swallowed again.

John nodded at Sherlock before saying, "Alright then," and walking quickly from the room.

Sherlock started to shake again slightly when John exited quickly. He was confused at John's sudden retreat.

He could not identify why.

He stared straight ahead sitting in bed and looked at the wall opposite his bed. Sherlock swallowed again, He could not seem to get rid of the lump in his throat. He briefly thought about going to the kitchen to get water but the walk seemed too far, and his body too tired.

John walked back in juggling a book and two cups of water. He walked up to Sherlock and gave him one cup. Sherlock looked gratefully at John and finished the cup quickly.

Still slightly dehydrated, John thought to himself. Sherlock looked up at John almost as if he was awaiting further instruction. John also noticed that his eyes were a little sunken and glassy; he was shaking slightly and seemed unfocused.

John frowned as he wondered if Sherlock had mild shock now that the immediate crisis was over.

Sherlock was a _force to be reckoned with_ during crises. However, since the abduction, John had noticed a change.

He noticed that Sherlock did what was necessary during a crisis. After the crisis passed however, Sherlock's body was susceptible to crashing and his mind retreating.

The fact that he had not kicked him out of his room by now, slamming the door behind with claims of him being too mothering was in itself, telling.

John knew what to do to comfort Sherlock. In the end, John knew he would give Sherlock whatever he needed even though he knew Sherlock was not yet aware of what that was.

John made up his mind.


	112. Chapter 108

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 108

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.<em>"**~Agatha Christie

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

_Nine Hours Earlier that Morning_

"Move over Sherlock, I'm sleeping with you tonight." John proceeded to lay down the cup on the bedside table and his book. John walked over to Sherlock's chair and got a throw cover. It was not until he came back that he recognized the fact that not only did Sherlock not move, he had a confused look on his face, and his mouth was hanging partially opened.

John thought for a moment trying to decipher what could be wrong when a thought suddenly occurred. John smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock, you're cute but not quite cute enough, and there's not enough alcohol in London. Now move over you git." John said with false sweetness.

Sherlock raised his own eyebrows as understanding came to him. His mouth formed a silent 'Oh', and he moved to the other end of the bed while, under the covers, John sat on the other side on top of the covers and wrapped the throw around his feet. "Lay down Sherlock."

"John …," Sherlock stopped and frowned unsure of what to say.

"Do you trust me Sherlock?" John asked already knowing the answer.

"Then lie down and close your eyes." John said gently before adding, "It'll be OK, I promise."

Sherlock lay down on his back and closed his eyes. John noticed that Sherlock was still shaking slightly.

John pulled the covers up to Sherlock's chin. John knew that, with anyone else, Sherlock would have to have a full explanation and probably give the appropriate corrections before he complied, if he complied at all.

Sherlock was showing an incredible amount of trust in John, and this touched him.

John took a deep breath and started talking quietly.

He talked about the latest case they solved that did not involve terrorist, bombs, or Ayyad. He talked about the weather, about his sister about anything and everything. The shaking grew less in intensity and stopped altogether after fifteen minutes.

John smiled when after another fifteen; a sleepy Sherlock slurred corrections to John on the cases and encouraged him to be more accurate in his description of the events. Soon after, Sherlock fell asleep.

John, however, did not stop talking nor did he leave.

John talked for hours about whatever came to mind until finally without him noticing, sleep claimed him as well.

Neither Sherlock nor John had another nightmare that day.


	113. Chapter 109

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 109

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.<em>"**~Agatha Christie

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

John considered Sherlock's nightmare that occurred the previous night. The nightmares were less severe and had occurred less frequently than before. Also, at least this time Sherlock was fully aware of them. However, it was obvious that the last twenty-four hours had awakened something.

John thought he heard voices. He got up, picked up his book, folded up the throw blanket and had put it to hang back on his chair.

Mycroft and Sherlock were talking. They were sitting in the chairs that they normally sat in.

Sherlock was showered, and fully dressed in his midnight blue suit and cream-colored tailored shirt. Mycroft was in his three-piece gray suit with a white shirt, and yellow stripe tie.

They were in the middle of their usual disagreement, when Mycroft stopped speaking and looked at John. He came with rumpled hair and pajamas from Sherlock's bedroom.

John noticed Mycroft's stare, but said nothing except, hello.

John walked into the kitchen. He heard Sherlock's voice.

"John, I put on some coffee, it's in the cup on the table." John took the coffee and drank. He was surprised that Sherlock made it, that it was the way he liked it and that it was piping-hot.

John gratefully sipped as he walked over to the table saying a thank you to Sherlock.

Mycroft became quiet, and sat back watching and listening as John and Sherlock past comments and questions back, and forth.

"Are you sore?" John asked, he wondered if he should get the painkillers for Sherlock. John considered how thrashing about because of the nightmare could aggravate an already abused body.

"Some." Sherlock replied honestly. This admission surprised John who walked over and gave him the pain medicine.

"How did you know when I would wake up, the coffee was hot." John was intrigued as he took another sip; he then frowned as he remembered the last time Sherlock made a hot beverage without moaning about it first. John looked at the cup.

"It's not drugged John, I'm doing a different experiment today." Sherlock sounded offended.

"OK," was all that John said as he continued to sip.

"I know how much sleep your body requires. I considered all your physical exertions. And I knew that you would fall asleep after me." Sherlock stated as if he should have known the facts.

"By the way John, don't worry; I thought all the moaning, and screaming coming from the bedroom would have waken Mrs. Hudson, but she seemed not to notice," Sherlock sipped his coffee and added, "or, maybe she's used to it." Sherlock's face was deep in thought.

"Well," Mycroft rose from his seat. "I should be getting back to the office." Mycroft looked at Sherlock then John and walked to the door, picked up his coat, and with a smirk prepared to leave.

"Oh, by the way, Sherlock, I'll have someone drop your phone off later today." Mycroft left.

John frowned at Mycroft's sudden exit and looked up when a thought occurred.

"Mycroft," John called out in time to hear a door slam.

"Well, that was mature Sherlock," John stated incredulously.

"Care to explain your meaning?" Sherlock calmly sipped on his coffee.

"You were experimenting again," John found it more amusing than irritating, "on human reactions and feelings if I was to guess. Even though, why you think your brother qualifies for the average human part, I don't know." John stopped mid thought.

"It was my reaction Sherlock Holmes you little git." John was annoyed, but not so annoyed that he did not take another sip of coffee, "One of these days, your little experiments are going to backfire, I hope I'm there to witness it. I hope even more that I'm not a part of it."

Sherlock had a small smile on his face.

Sherlock said nothing at first, "Care to point out where I lied?" Sherlock asked calmly.

John ignored Sherlock's comment and looked at him, really looked. Apart from the split lip and facial bruising, to anyone who did not know Holmes it was just another morning with a bored Sherlock Holmes.

That was to anyone that did not know him. John understood that Sherlock was trying to redirect not only John's attention away from last night, but also his own.

John would not allow Sherlock to slip back into his old patterns of ignoring difficult emotional issues by deflection or simply pretending that they were not there.

He wanted to take a shower, but sat across from Sherlock looking at him while sipping the coffee. Sherlock sighed and sipped his coffee suddenly looking everywhere in the room, but into John's eyes. John waited patiently.

After a few minutes, Sherlock looked into John's eyes.

"Whenever you're ready," John said quietly.

Sherlock after a moment opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by Mycroft's borrowed mobile phone ringing. He frowned slightly, half disappointed by the interruption, half relieved.

"Holmes," Sherlock said answering the mobile phone.

"_How long did it take John to see through your little distraction?" Mycroft asked directly. The Holmes brothers were not ones for hellos or goodbyes. _

"Not long," Sherlock replied simply.

"_He's getting much faster..., I thought that I would warn you, Thomas reported that a Miss Molly Hooper is on the way up and caring something that looks suspiciously like cookies. I will see you tonight. Do save me a cookie."_

"Are you sure you need one?" Sherlock replied annoyed.

"_Quite sure, Sherlock" Mycroft disconnected the call._


	114. Chapter 110

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 110

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, but through it all I still know quite certainly<em>**

**_that just to be alive is a grand thing._****"**~Agatha Christie

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

A knock at the door interrupted the would be confessional.

"Come in," John said suddenly aware of his appearance.

Molly came in the door then stood just inside the door. John thought that he heard Sherlock whispered a "Good Lord," under his breath but John could not be sure. John looked at Molly, it was obvious that she had a crush on Sherlock; he doubted that Sherlock even noticed apart from scientific curiosity on the effect of infatuation on behavior.

Molly was dressed simply in black slacks, a white button front shirt, and sensible black heals. Her hair was in a neat ponytail. A fitted black jacket and green scarf finished the look. She had applied some makeup and lipstick but it was tastefully done. John was not used to seeing her without her lab jacket. The clothes that she wore was well fitted, instead of the baggy loose fitting clothing that she used to wear. He had noticed that since the reappearance of Sherlock she had been making more of an effort with her appearance. She looked cute even pretty.

"Hello Molly," John said aloud with a smile. John then leaned closely so that only Sherlock could hear and whispered, "Be nice, we'll talk later."

John then walked up to Molly and kissed her on the cheek as he excused himself to his bedroom to prepare for a shower.

Molly stood unmoving in the doorway grinning widely while holding a package of what could, by the smell, only be oatmeal cookies.

"Molly," Sherlock said. He stood and walked over to her. He came close and stood directly over her. Molly smiled became impossibly wide as she looked up at him.

"Hello," she said simply. Although, they spoke several times on the phone since he had come back, and text frequently when Sherlock wanted something, this was the first time that she had seen him since a week after she had helped him to fake his suicide.

She looked him over her smile fading now. She now had the serious look of a scientist as she took in his appearance. It unnerved Sherlock.

He was surprised when her free hand reached up to his face, gently turning it. She had a serious expression of concentration as though she was in the lab trying to solve a mystery.

He was used to nervous stuttering; follow his commands without question Molly, this more confident bolder version was not something he was used to.

"Is that for me?" Sherlock was surprised at how gentle his voice sounded.

"Sorry, yes," her hand dropped almost reluctantly.

Sherlock took the bag and was grateful for a chance to retreat from the examination. He briefly wondered if that was how other people felt when he was making his deductions, almost as if the soul was standing naked and exposed. Sherlock quickly dismissed the questioning thought.

He sighed then returned.

"Well Molly, thank you for dropping by, I wouldn't want to make you return from your lunch late."

He smiled falsely and put his hand on the small of her back guiding her to the door.

"Oh don't worry, I took the rest of the day off," Molly said happily.

"Marvelous," Sherlock said with a tight smile. Sherlock gestured with his hand then walked over to the sofa and sat. Molly sat beside him. They sat in silence for a minute as Sherlock wondered if one was expected to make tea in these situations. Molly again stared at him as if he was an unsolved puzzle. He was grateful at least that she did not say anything cliché or ask a stupid question.

"How are you?" Molly asked. "There, we are, the stupid question," Sherlock thought.

"Fine," he said annoyed.

"How are you?" Molly asked again more gently this time.

Sherlock looked directly in Molly's eyes. This time he decided to be himself. That should get her to leave; she was starting to unnerve him. Sherlock smiled condescendingly and spoke with just the right touch of sarcasm.

"I believe I've answered you Miss Hooper. Now I really have things I have to attend to." Sherlock stood so that there would be no question that he was expecting her to leave. He no longer had a smile, false or otherwise.

Molly stood but made no move to leave. "I didn't ask you to repeat some empty words that we both know that you don't mean. I asked you how you really were."

Sherlock invaded her personal space and towered over her. "Do you want a different answer? What would you like to hear, that I'm not okay, but scared, angry, terrified, **angry**. That I wake up screaming or dread going to sleep. That I worry about the people that I care about. Yes, even the freak, the psychopath, has a heart. **Is that what you wanted to hear**?"

Sherlock ended speaking with a raised voice. He was shaking with anger. Sherlock closed his eyes now suddenly tired.

Sherlock felt small hands slip under his suit jacket and wrap around his waist. He opened his eyes to find Molly's head against his chest.

"Molly?" He questioned with a shaky voice.

"Yes Sherlock that is what I wanted to hear..., Honesty. Thank you… Oh… am I hugging you too tight. I don't want to hurt you." Molly looked into his eyes with her chin resting on his chest.

"Um… you're fine," he replied with a small smile, and a shaky, husky voice.

"You do realize that you can be quite annoying at times Molly Katherine Hooper." Sherlock did not realize that he now had his arms wrapped around her as well. He stared into her eyes studying her. Now **she** was the puzzle that had to be solved.

"All part of my secret charm, she grinned into his chest, I missed you Sherlock. I missed my friend."

"I missed you too, Molly." Sherlock was surprised to hear himself say the words. He was even more surprised to realize that he meant it.

He leaned his chin on the top of Molly's head and closed his eyes as he allowed himself to take whatever Molly was giving.

John walked back, fully dressed but drying his still damp hair with a towel. He vaguely wondered how long it took Sherlock to push Molly out the door.

He paused at the end of the hallway, and stared. Sherlock and Molly were embracing and by the looks of it, there were no plans to part any time soon.

John realized that maybe he should stop staring; he turned to walk back to his bedroom.

A smile slowly spread on John's face.

"Good for you Molly." He whispered as he walked, "Good for you."

* * *

><p>AN: I hope these chapters were okay. I had different versions of these chapters with a different outcome. I hope I picked the right ones. Let me know.

Love to all. Zacha


	115. Chapter 111

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 111

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

Thank you so much for all your comments and PMs. There were strong feelings on both sides, thanks for sharing. Onward.

Lots of Love

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."<em>** ~ Robert Frost

* * *

><p>John walked in the hallway; he was torn. He wanted to give Sherlock and Molly privacy, but his mobile was on the kitchen table, and the only landline in the flat was in the kitchen, as well.<p>

He knew Mycroft.

Although many termed him the iceman and he was; In regard to his brother, he was anything but ice.

In fact, he was more like fire.

He promised to make a call check every hour or he knew Thomas would be knocking at the door, if he bothered to knock at all.

He was told not to leave Sherlock's side for any reason for the next three days. The truth was he had no intentions of doing so, even before he was told.

It had only been ten minutes since he left them.

John took several steps forward in the hallway and listened. He frowned unsure how to proceed.

"It's okay John," he heard Sherlock's voice travel.

John walked the rest of the distance and peeked around the corner. The room was empty except for Sherlock.

Sherlock was sitting at the table. One of his hands was on his coffee cup; the other hand was in his pocket.

He was staring straight ahead.

John looked and frowned, then retrieved his phone from the kitchen before sitting down across from Sherlock.

"Molly is gone then." John commented.

Sherlock stared ahead but did not answer.

"So what are you doing now?" John winced as he realized that that was a stupid question, but he wanted to say something and was unsure of what to say. He waited, wondering what sarcastic comment that Sherlock would make. However, none came.

"Thinking," Sherlock said simply. His thumb rubbed the edge of the cup.

John frowned.

"Do you think I'm losing myself?" Sherlock asked unexpectedly, still looking straight ahead.

"What do you mean Sherlock?" John became uneasy.

"I don't know, John." Sherlock smiled bitterly.

John swallowed.

It was not like Sherlock to reveal so much of himself without a little push from John. He wondered how much more could Sherlock bear.

John suddenly wished that both Ayyad and a handgun were within his reach.

There was a brief silence.

"Well enough of that. Emotions are draining are they not? How do you manage day to day?" Sherlock looked at John for the first time as a hint of his old self-peeked through.

"We, the common mass rally through," John was slightly annoyed and relieved at the same time, "Smart arse." John added quietly. He was pleased to hear Sherlock quietly chuckle.

They both felt like a weight, if not completely, at least partially lifted out of the room.

"Um Sherlock, I need to make a call." John looked at his watch.

Sherlock said nothing but took a sip of his coffee and frowned. It was cool. He walked into the kitchen, and the sound of things being moved around was heard.

John punched in the numbers and pushed the send button.

"_John, I need to meet with you." Mycroft sounded tense._

"I can't come to your office right now, I don't think Sherlock's in the mood for traveling."

"_Just you, John."_

"What happen to not leaving him alone?" John spoke in a hushed voice. He became angry without knowing fully why. "I have no intentions of leaving him Mycroft."

John was silent for a minute.

"_John I'm downstairs in the café, I've called Mrs. Hudson she's on her way up. Moreover, two details are temporarily outside as opposed to one. I'm waiting for you John." _

"Mycroft… My…," John spoke into a disconnected line. Mycroft had hung up. John sighed as he heard Mrs. Hudson called up saying that she was on her way but getting lunch.

John frowned as he walked into the kitchen. He was careful to put a smile on his face and talk casually.

"Sherlock I'm running in the café for a paper, do you want anything?"

Sherlock returned a tight smile but shook his head "no".

John shifted from foot to foot. "I'll be back soon. Call me if you need me." John realized that he was rambling. He also knew he **should** leave. He knew his feelings were somewhat irrationally, but he did not **want** to leave, he was reluctant.

Sherlock looked John up and down. He smiled slightly and said. "Um John, perhaps you can bring me a… tea cake. You know which one I like."

"Sure mate." John seemed relieved to be asked to do something for Sherlock. He looked up quickly. Then nodded, grabbed his jacket, and walked toward the door.

Sherlock heard the door shut close.

"Tell Mycroft hello for me." Sherlock spoke softly to an empty room.

* * *

><p>A soldier in a car watched casually as he sat in that car at the end of the block.<p>

They alternated cars every hour to minimize the chances of detection.

Something caught his attention.

He immediately got on the phone speaking in Czech. "Yes sir, there is movement… (pause)…, The blonde haired one, the Doctor, not Holmes… (pause)…, No sir he didn't leave really he just went next door to a café…(pause)…, Holmes have yet to leave… (pause)…, No sir, the only visitors have been the man with the umbrella he stayed over an hour and a women who left after staying ten minutes…, Sir I see him now."

The call was quickly disconnected as the soldier in the car watched.

* * *

><p>He walked through the crowd. There was a fairly sizeable amount of foot traffic. The soldier who was on foot was glad for it; it prevented detection.<p>

From behind his sunglasses, he glanced sideways with his eyes only into the café. He saw the blonde hair man taking off his coat and sitting across from a man with an umbrella. He was careful not to delay his speed, but made himself invisible as he blended into the light crowd.

Three blocks later the soldier who was on foot got on the phone after entering a different car. He picked up his phone and made a report. "Two details sir, normally there is only one, I came within yards, and no one seemed to notice… (pause)…, Yes sir." The call was disconnected.

* * *

><p>Veselý smiled as he disconnected the last call from one of the lower level soldiers that was assigned under him. "Maybe this can be salvaged after all," he said to himself quietly. I think I know how to get you Mr. Holmes. Uvidíme se brzy, pane Holmesi!"<p>

* * *

><p>AN:

**Uvidíme se brzy, pane Holmesi!" **Is translated **I will see you soon Mr. Holmes!**

**Thanks Esstell !**


	116. Chapter 112

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 112

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."<strong>_ ~ Robert Frost

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

"Mycroft," John nodded as he took a seat.

Mycroft nodded and finished his phone call. "Did you notice anyone unusual? Alright keep a watch then." Mycroft disconnected the phone.

"And what was that about." John gestured with his head at the phone.

"Oh, just wanted to see if your movements were being followed," Mycroft said matter of fact.

"You used me as a decoy," John asked. John was not sure how he felt about that little piece of information. He was not really angry just mostly questioning.

"Do you mind," Mycroft said with a tight smile, "it was perfectly safe several agents blended into the crowd.

"Did you find anything out?" John glanced out the window.

"There were several people each _bystander_ picked out. Three entered cars shortly after. Their license number on their cars is being run as we speak. Ayyad would be an idiot if he did not at least see how close he could get a man to your residence without being detected. Lower level most likely with only limited knowledge so if captured no real harm done." Mycroft looked tired.

John noticed that he has never really noticed Mycroft looking tired before.

"So, I'll get back to Sherlock," John made a motion to leave.

"John," Mycroft interrupted.

John turned and sat back down with a sigh.

"He needs to be in protective custody." Mycroft looked beyond John with his mouth in a tight line.

John was silent for a moment.

"Isn't this something you need to discuss with your brother?" John if he was honest with himself saw this coming.

"Already discussed it with him this morning no doubt the reason for his little attempt at distraction earlier." Mycroft looked at John pointedly.

"About that Mycroft, you need to talk to your brother if you want any information not me…"

"John I … care for my brother without condition. However, I do know my brother. My brother is more sexual than you and I put together, but he chose a long time ago to… give everything up, even the most basic desires all for the development of his mind, well…, at least so far. No John, I am not speaking of his sex life or lack of it in this case, I concerned with his… " Mycroft was searching for a word.

"Emotions…, feeling…, maybe heart is the word you're stumbling over?" John looked Mycroft in the eyes.

"Yes," Mycroft said as if he had a bad taste in this mouth. "Insert one of those and answer the question John."

"Mycroft you know I cannot betray his confidence, not even for you. Your relationship has been much better lately, why don't you ask him yourself, unless…?"

"Unless?" Mycroft repeated looking John in the eyes grimly.

"Your own… excuse the dirty word Mycroft… heart could not take hearing the pain in your brother's voice or seeing it in his eyes." John knew Mycroft was not a man to be played with, but John thought to himself, neither was he.

John prepared himself unsure of Mycroft's reaction.

What John did not expect was Mycroft to chuckle "I can see what my brother sees in you more every day."

John raised an eyebrow, he did not know that Mycroft had facial muscles capable of laughing.

Mycroft sighed as his smile dropped. "Will you at least tell me if the last twenty four plus hour has … caused any unpleasant _things_ to immerge?"

John frowned but said nothing.

Mycroft studied his face and came to a deduction, "I see,"

Mycroft frowned. "Stay close to him John; I'll let you get back now." Mycroft raised and stopped before he walked away.

"I would have been very surprised perhaps, but not upset." Mycroft turned to leave.

"Mycroft what are you talking about?" John asked confused.

Mycroft said nothing further but walked away.

John did not have time to think about it further, he had to get back to Sherlock.


	117. Chapter 113

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 113

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened,<strong>_

_**and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of**_

_**pain.**_"~ Charles Dickens

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock heard John come in the door. John walked over to the table where Mrs. Hudson had put some food on.

"She left, I wanted a minute alone," Sherlock answered before John had a chance to ask.

John was a little uncomfortable, "Look, Sherlock…"

"I know," Sherlock said simply while attempting a smile at John. "How is he?" Sherlock asked.

"Asking me the same exact thing about you. You two seem to use me to gauge each other's emotional state." John gasped loudly. Sherlock frowned as he looked at him.

"Sorry did I say the bad E word, emotions?" John walked over and sat next to Sherlock. "Sorry I forgot the teacakes."

"Not hungry, of course I ate something to appease Mrs. Hudson."

"Tea?" Sherlock eyes traveled to the cup that John did not notice. Again, it was hot.

"Sherlock, I may get the wrong impression, what's next, housework, no body parts in the refrigerator?"

"That's never going to happen, John, so enjoy the tea." Sherlock had the faintest hint of a real smile now.

Sherlock's smile left, "John, last night… "

"You're welcome," John smiled.

"Ready?" At the look on Sherlock's face John added, "It gets easier each time."

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments, John waited patiently.

Finally, Sherlock looked at John, sighed, then began.

Sherlock spoke about his nightmare about being abducted, about fearing coming under Ayyad's control and not being able to withstand the torture.

He spoke of his greatest fear, of them breaking his mind.

He spoke of memories and fears that had come to the forefront again.

Sherlock hesitated briefly, then he spoke of being in the warehouse after he was taken and looking at the dead soldier that tried to grab him but fell instead several yards to his death.

"I looked at his face for a moment John, just a brief moment, I wondered how my face would look if that was me dead on the ground." Sherlock looked into John's eyes, searching for judgment, but found none.

Sherlock was relieved.

"John, I let go of the rail, I fell on a rubbish bin, and it broke my fall…, mostly." Sherlock smirked.

John had to ask, "Sherlock, did you know that the bin was under you?"

John looked into Sherlock's eyes waiting for an answer.

Sherlock met John's gaze, "Yes, John. It was just a fleeting thought, you said to be honest."

"Yes, I did. Thank you Sherlock."

Sherlock spoke for an hour. He spoke honestly, like he did the time after he woke from being trapped in his mind palace. He did not hold back.

Sherlock finally paused and asked John an unexpected question.

"What was your nightmare about John?"

John was not sure what to say. He didn't want to hurt Sherlock by telling him about a dream in which he was tortured.

He looked at Sherlock frowning.

"John you claim that I bottle things up all the time. Are you not doing the same. I want to hear, John." Sherlock waited patiently.

John took a deep breath, closed his eyes then opened them. He then spoke holding nothing back including his fears, feelings, and tears.

When he finished, Sherlock was quiet for a moment. He then said, "Thank you John."

Sherlock took a deep breath and spoke again.

Sherlock spoke for another hour. He took breaks to gather his thoughts and John realized, also to get his _emotions_ under control. John pretended not to notice. Sherlock pretended not to notice him pretending not to notice.

Afterward, both sat quietly in their chair recovering from the experience.

After two more hours, Lestrade brought over some old and new cases.

Sherlock's face brightened as he comfortably fell back into his normal pattern. He solved two of the new cases quickly within less than two hours.

He continued to work on the rest, for the remainder of the evening.

Sherlock had five possibilities for one of the cases and told Lestrade that he needed to see the original crime scene.

Both John and Lestrade simultaneously yelled at Sherlock.

Sherlock simply smiled and replied that they both needed to, "… obtain a sense of humor…"

Later that night, Sherlock fell asleep on the sofa. Lestrade prepared to leave and go with a total of four cases solved.

John walked him to the door.

Lestrade looked back at Sherlock. "I'm not use to seeing him fall asleep like that. I'm glad though, he needs it."

"He's pretty battered, not just on his face, I had to re-wrap his ribs yesterday. His body's bruised, he still dehydrated, not to mention the bullet woun…graze." John looked at Sherlock before continuing.

"Personally I am not sure how he was even upright today. If that was me, I wouldn't have left the bed for three days."

"It would've been five days for me," Lestrade smiled as he looked at Sherlock.

"Thanks, he needed the distraction." John smiled at Lestrade.

"I kinda thought he'd be a bit nutty by now, don't get me wrong, I'm happy about the cases. An added benefit I would say."

"I know you'll take care of him…," Lestrade smiled, "… despite himself."

Lestrade nodded and left.

John thought for a moment and then retrieved a blanket and covered Sherlock.

He walked to his bedroom and returned with a book and a blanket. John pushed Sherlock's chair close so that he could put his feet up. He then sat in his chair. John meant to read for at least an hour but was asleep himself within twenty minutes.

Neither woke that night. The nightmares stayed away from them both.

* * *

><p>Outside, two blocks away. A soldier in a car noticed the DI Lestrade leave. The soldier called in a report then he drank his coffee.<p>

He watched.

He waited.

* * *

><p>AN: Let me know what you think. Love to all, Zacha


	118. Chapter 114

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 114

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

Hi everyone, I could not get this one out of my mind.

Love always and cookies for comments.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>But ne'er the rose without the thorn<em>**." ~Robert Herrick

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

The last five days have been interesting, John thought.

Sherlock was confined to the flat for five days.

By day three, men wept.

By day four, angels joined them.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Day One<em>**

It was a day of support for Sherlock and a time of healing for both, Sherlock and John.

There were a lot of talking and emotions flowing on both sides on day one.

Sherlock cooperated and took his pain medication, much to everyone's surprise.

He played his violin.

He retreated to his mind palace.

Sherlock slept a lot, which was unusual for him.

When awake, Sherlock was quiet and reflective.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Day Two<em>**

It was a day where Sherlock, despite some protest, slept most of the morning.

This allowed his battered body to heal.

In the afternoon, the dark circles under Sherlock's eyes were improved, and Sherlock announced quietly that he was bored.

Lestrade brought over several cases to keep Sherlock busy, to the gratitude of both John and Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Day Three<em>**

Day three started out with promise.

Mycroft was over and Sherlock was calmly discussing his need to, "… breathe fresh air."

Mycroft told Sherlock to be patient.

A discussion went back and forth as the volume of voices; mostly on Sherlock's part, increased.

Soon there were animated expressions and gestures on Sherlock's part, as he paced back and forth in front of a calm Mycroft.

He was ranting about how his mind was going to putrefy. Sherlock added that he needed a challenging case. He then commented on how unimaginative the criminal class had become in England.

Sherlock stopped suddenly, demanding that his brother get him five boxes of nicotine patches.

Now.

John rarely interfered, but reluctantly did so now.

John politely interrupted Sherlock to point out that with his current medications and body recovering; nicotine patches were out the question.

John also politely pointed out that Sherlock had not had a patch in close to four months or a cigarette close to a year and was doing well so should not give up now.

Sherlock became quiet and smiled sweetly while he said something in French.

Whatever was said, caused Mycroft to choke on the tea that he was in the middle of swallowing.

"Sherlock Holmes did you just curse at me; **in French,** none -the -less?" John invaded Sherlock's personal space irate.

"You're free to make your own deductions, Doctor Watson." Sherlock smiled a little too sweetly.

It deteriorated from there.

John and Sherlock disagreed often but rarely argued.

Soon there were shouts, screams, and animated gestures on both parts.

After about an hour of Mycroft sipping on his tea calmly and observing the two men, Mycroft stood.

Late in the evening at the end of day three, Mycroft left.

He said something to the effect of how, **he was not a praying man generally, but would make an exception and say a prayer for John.**

Late in the evening at the end of day, three; John told Sherlock absolutely no nicotine patches!

John stormed out of the flat, after telling Sherlock that he would be downstairs at Mrs. Hudson if he needed him.

Late in the evening at the end of day, three; as Sherlock's eyes glared at John's retreating form, his eyes abruptly widened.

A thought suddenly occurred to Sherlock.

Sherlock turned his head and looked toward John's bedroom.

Sherlock smiled.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Day Four <em>**

* * *

><p><strong>3:05 AM;<strong> John woke up to an agitated, fully dress, and not too happy Sherlock. He was playing the violin at three in the morning.

**3:10 AM;** John asked Sherlock to stop playing.

**3:11 AM;** Sherlock ignored John.

**3:13 AM**; John asked more forcefully for Sherlock to stop playing.

**3:14 AM**; Sherlock ignored John, again.

**3:17 AM**; John asked Sherlock in an animated way to "Shut the bloody hell up!"

**3:18 AM;** Sherlock played louder.

**3:21 AM;** John became still and calmly explained how he would fit Sherlock's violin bow into certain body parts of Sherlock if he did not stop playing.

**3:21 AM**; Sherlock stopped playing.

**3:21 AM**; All became peaceful. John returned to bed.

* * *

><p><strong>7:16 AM<strong>; John came into the kitchen to a calm and smiling Sherlock.

"Thank you Sherlock, is the tea for me?" John walked over to the table and sat down.

"Of course John, just the way you like it." Sherlock said while he sipped on his tea.

The worst is over John thought and sighed contently.

John and Sherlock had a calm morning.

**7:21 AM;** The phone rang.

John picked it up and spoke to an irate Lestrade.

John glared at Sherlock, "It's for you."

Sherlock ignored the extended phone and looked the other way.

"**Sherlock!"** John still extended the phone and rubbed the bridge of this nose feeling a headache forming.

"**Fine**," Sherlock grumbled as he picked up the phone.

"Lestrade…, **Oh alright**!" Sherlock sighed. Sherlock then walked over to his phone, punched in something and pressed send.

Sherlock walked over to the table and sat down then resumed drinking his tea.

John took another sip of tea, sighed, and then asked Sherlock a question. "Sherlock, it's fantastic that you solved the murder case that Lestrade brought here a few days ago. It was extremely civil minded of you to inform them," John looked at Sherlock now. "But, did you really have to text thirty three people and call them idiots for not coming up with a solution more quickly?"

"Thirty two John, I texted a paragraph to Anderson, One word could not have conveyed his level of incompetence." Sherlock sipped on his tea as he stared out the window.

"Oh," John said.

"It's going to be a beautiful day, Sherlock," John looked out the window.

"Yes, John." Sherlock agreed.

* * *

><p><strong>09:34 AM<strong>; Sherlock paced back and forth for fifteen minutes with his hands behind his back.

**09:45 AM**; John asked the question he knew he would regret.

"What's wrong Sherlock?"

Sherlock continued to pace. "I'm bored, John." Sherlock said in a low voice while still pacing. "Bored."

* * *

><p><strong>10:46 AM<strong>; John listened as Sherlock played the most beautiful music on his violin.

**11:59 AM;** Sherlock paced the floor. "I'm …. Bored John. I'm bored." Sherlock's voice is raised.

**12:57 PM;** Sherlock composed music for the violin.

**01:18 PM;** Mrs. Hudson visited.

**01:50 PM;** Sherlock played the composed music. John and Mrs. Hudson smiled and listened.

**03:07 PM;** Sherlock paced with animated body movements.

"**I**…,** AM**…, **BORED**…, Bored… Bored… Bored… Shoot me now…, **Bored**!" Sherlock screams.

**03:09 PM;** Mrs. Hudson left.

**03:11 PM;** John left.

* * *

><p><strong>04:40 PM;<strong> John ran to the kitchen after hearing an explosion.

Sherlock was found on the floor on his bum with black soot on his face, dress suit and table.

A table that now had a burned, and gashed out area.

John sighed.

He just stared and raised both eyebrows with his hands crossed. Waiting.

Sherlock stared back defiantly.

"It wasn't my fault John, I'm missing some key chemical components. I told Molly to bring them over immediately, but for some reason, she declined." Sherlock gingerly crossed his arms agitated.

"What did you say to her Sherlock?"John asked tiredly.

"I simply pointed out the obvious. She did not have to wait until later since she had no social commitments, and no one notices her. Therefore, no one would even notice her absence if she was to leave now." Sherlock said as a logical fact.

"She used to do whatever I asked her without question. John, do you think she's ill?"

Sherlock frowned and added quietly, "John, I never knew that Molly knew such words."

"I see," John said, "Sherlock did you re-injure yourself?"

"No." Sherlock said pouting.

"Do you need anything for pain?"

"No."

John nodded, "Alright then," John walked to his room.

**04:48 PM;** John listened as Mrs. Hudson yelled at Sherlock.

* * *

><p><strong>05:00 PM<strong>; In Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"John, can't we give him… **_something _**in his tea to…, calm him?"

"Mrs. Hudson! Shame on you!" John scolded.

**05:02 PM** John considered it.

**05:03 PM** John felt guilty for considering it.

**05:15 PM** Mrs. Hudson felt guilty for considering it.

* * *

><p><strong>05:21 PM<strong> Gunshots were heard upstairs in 221B.

**05:22 PM** John panicked, thinking that Sherlock was being attacked. John ran in to see Sherlock giving the smiley face on the wall an eyebrow out of bullets.

**05:22 PM** John cursed.

**05:23 PM** Sherlock handed the gun to John.

"When did you get my gun Sherlock?" John asked exasperated.

"Yesterday when you went downstairs after our…, _disagreement_." Sherlock smirked.

**05:25 PM** Both men now noticed Mrs. Hudson with a murderous look on her face glaring at Sherlock.

**05:26 PM** Sherlock stop smirking.

* * *

><p><strong>05: 28 PM<strong> John called Mycroft. "Hello Mycroft, I need your help…"

* * *

><p><strong>05:40 PM<strong> Sherlock sat on the sofa with Mrs. Hudson sitting across from him with her arms folded and an angry expression.

John walked up to Sherlock and threw a small package in Sherlock's lap.

"Here Sherlock, your nicotine patches, If you overdose don't come crying to me!" John marched away muttering.

**06:00 PM** Sherlock quietly sipped tea.

It was actually quite good, Sherlock thought.

He sighed contently.

Sherlock wondered if John was still angry with him.

Sherlock watched John. John muttered something that sounded like, "I'm living with a man-child…" He watched John pass as he was cleaning up the kitchen.

"John," Sherlock called, "You missed a spot."

Sherlock frowned as he wondered why John cursed.

Really, such language was uncalled for; it reminded him of Molly.

"Ummm," Sherlock said as he sipped the tea.

John should really appreciate the things he does more, Sherlock thought.

Sherlock thought about how he had **only** used two nicotine patches, all because of John. He **even** had made his own tea, even though he was technically still recovering.

Still, John did look rather angry, Sherlock noticed.

He did not like it when John was angry with him. He did not use to care if anyone was angry with him. That was before John.

With John for some reason, Sherlock admitted, he cared.

Sherlock made up his mind; He would do something nice for John. Something…, Sentimental.

A thought occurred.

John was particularly fond of the tea that he was drinking. He especially likes to drink it after a stressful day.

Sherlock decided that he would remind John to order some more tea since he used the last teabag for his cuppa tea.

Sherlock sighed relieved.

And, to think; John thought that he was socially inept.

**Ridiculous**, Sherlock thought.


	119. Chapter 115

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 115

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to<strong>: princessangelwings, kyoshizero, Prothoe, socalrose, Mitaya, Esstell, bbmcowgirl, Sherlock and supernatural mad, Ju Lara, CrimsonKitsune333, LadyRavena, LogicandWonderland , eohippus, and briongloid fiodoir, for your recent post.

For all those of you who have reviewed thank you. Cookies and tea for all!

For the one of you who had a sad event recently, I'm thinking of you. No more said for privacy sake. You know who you are. Lots of Love.

****To my regular family, thanks. Love you all**. Special thanks to Esstell for reviewing Czech grammar and even adding slang for me, how cool.

* * *

><p><em><strong>"There is a little boy inside the man who is my brother. Oh, how I hated that little boy. And how I love him<strong>_

_**too."~**__Anna Quindlan_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

John walked towards the dining room wondering what Sherlock was upset about this time.

For the first time in five days, it had been a perfectly peaceful morning.

He shook his head as he walked down the hallway.

"I will not have you threaten me Mycroft, I'm not a child," John heard Sherlock saying in a raised voice.

"Then stop acting like one," John heard Mycroft calmly reply.

John found the Holmes brother locked in some sort of mental combat, staring each other down.

When John left the brothers, they were both sitting in chairs facing each other talking calmly, now both were standing facing each other. While Mycroft was composed, Sherlock was becoming more animated by the second.

"I refuse," Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

"Cambridge University," Mycroft said simply, calmly.

"You can't keep holding that over my head," Sherlock got in Mycroft's personal space and sighed then said with a pleading look.

"I told you, I was doing an **experiment** on the effects of alcohol and sleep deprivation. I knew its effect on a normal mind. Don't you see? I wanted to see its effect on a superior one. Since no one else at that… _institution_ had a superior mind but myself …," Sherlock let his voice trail off before speaking again.

"Furthermore, if they thought I was going to give some speech about how we should march bravely into our future for Queen and Country, they truly were idiots," Sherlock said with contempt.

Sherlock pleading tone came back.

"Besides Mycroft, you said you destroyed all the copies," Sherlock whispered to his brother as he invaded Mycroft's personal space.

John eyes widened at the scene in front of him. He could tell that things were escalating. John, however, was not willing to interfere just yet, besides he wanted to hear more.

So, he poured himself a cup of tea, and leaned against the wall.

"Do you know how much your little **prank** cost me Sherlock, and yes I did destroy all the copies, except one that is. I still watch it every now and then, but mostly on holidays." A dangerous smile was on Mycroft's face.

"Imbecile," Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Moron," Mycroft crossed his arm.

"You're impossible," Sherlock crossed his arm as well.

"You're insufferable," Mycroft's smile left.

"Jerk," Sherlock spat.

"Git," Mycroft, losing control now.

"Sod," Sherlock.

"Twit," Mycroft.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he drew a deep breath.

"Son of a …" Sherlock was interrupted.

"**Boys**," John shouted.

He got between the brothers. Who were both breathing heavily and throwing daggers with their eyes.

"Boys please, let's all just take a breath," John said again more gently this time.

Both brothers looked at John.

Mycroft immediately changed his expression to one of calm. Then he picked up his umbrella and turned to leave.

"Well, I think I'll get back to the office."

As Mycroft left he walked close to John and smiled saying, "Talk some sense into that thick head of his will you."

John waited until he heard the door close then looked at Sherlock with questioning eyes.

Sherlock pouted then after rolling his eyes, he walked over to the bin.

John followed with a confused look on his face.

"Oh," John said looking at the floor. He had no doubt that the only reason that it was not **in** the trash bin was because it did not fit.

John picked the offensive object up and examined it. "Actually Sherlock, this is a very nice one, I've never seen one so thin."

"You could not **possibly** be serious John," Sherlock looked insulted.

"Well yes I am actually; you could wear it under your suit and shirt. You may have to wear undershirts to keep it from rubbing on your skin while it's healing …."

Sherlock interrupted John.

"I… will… **never**… put… that… **thing**… on!" Sherlock walked away and dramatically sighed while letting his body fall a little too quickly on the couch. He grunted at the discomfort before crossing his arms.

"Why not?" John asked following Sherlock. "Frankly, I'm on Mycroft's side this time. I know it may be a little uncomfortable as you heal, but a bullet is much more uncomfortable."

"It's not the discomfort," Sherlock said.

At John's questioning expression, Sherlock added.

"It's not necessary; Mycroft has always had a flair for the dramatic. I am perfectly fine without one. If Mycroft thinks he can **force **me to wear that, that… **thing**, he's mistaken!" Sherlock sank further into the couch.

"Oh, I see," John, said with a false calm.

Sherlock turned his head in John's direction with a questioning look on his own.

"This is some sort of rebellion toward Mycroft isn't it Sherlock? It's a bullet-proof vest Sherlock, **just wear the bloody thing**!" John was starting to agree with Mycroft's earlier comment that Sherlock could be insufferable.

John stood for a few minutes trying to get his heart rate under control. He knew Sherlock's `I will not bend face'.

John closed his eyes, took a breath then spoke.

"Sherlock, remember this, there are people who care for you. These same people might just miss you a little if something were to happen to you. I would miss you, Sherlock." John put the vest back down and walked away, having little hope that Sherlock would yield.

Sherlock frowned as he watched John's retreating form.


	120. Chapter 116

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 116

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

Snog is to kiss enthusiastically.

Uni short for University.

**Love to all**.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>No mind, however loving, could bear to see plainly<strong>_

_**into all the recesses of another mind."**_ ~Arnold

Bennett

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Mycroft sat sipping on his Brandy by the fireplace.

He had put down his glass after taking only a few sips.

He and Sherlock were alike in that regard; they only sipped at alcohol and did not drink large amounts at one time. Their reasons were similar reasons. Both Holmes did not want to cloud their most treasured possession, their minds.

He frowned as he stared at the crystal glass in his hands. "Only the finest," he whispered to himself with a raised eyebrow and a sigh.

One way or another, the situation at hand would be concluded soon, Mycroft decided.

Several bank accounts of the late Moriarty have already been seized. Twelve more were in the process of being seized but that would take time.

Financially, it was billions in total.

This would cripple Ayyad since he was currently in control of Moriarty's kingdom. The late Moriarty, was if nothing else, not in need of money.

The fireplace light danced reflecting on the crystal glass. Mycroft stared at the fire but did not see its beauty. He was lost in his mind and thoughts.

He went about organizing data, coming up with possible solutions, and making plans on how to manipulate events.

This was his gift, his talent.

He had just spoken with Sherlock.

He knew that for Sherlock, Sherlock had been more than cooperative the last five days. He would have to let Sherlock leave the flat eventually. He had kept him confined a day longer than necessary. He smiled at the thought of what poor John must have had to endure.

Sherlock was never good at confinement of any kind.

The lower level soldier of Ayyad's that Thomas had captured, had not provided any useful information and quite frankly was an idiot.

Mycroft was certain he had told all the information that he knew.

Mycroft had _asked_ the soldier personally.

Mycroft remembered a particular day during Sherlock's childhood. Sherlock's arm was in a sling and he was on bed rest for three days after it was _accidentally_ dislocated at the joint. He also had a suspected head concussion.

It had taken all of Mycroft's patience to distract Sherlock, who after day two decided he was bored.

Sherlock had always been a fast healer. Unfortunately, Mycroft found that fact out personally.

Mycroft thought back and remembered a few bedside visits on holiday from Uni where he would find Sherlock with another mysterious injury.

Sherlock would never say who was responsible for his injuries. At first Mycroft thought, it was his schoolmates. They had always been jealous of Sherlock's superior mind and ability to do well without effort. The deductions and lack of social graces did not help to stir the pot of warm feeling among his schoolmates; Mycroft, after a while came to another conclusion.

It seemed that his absence as the diplomat in the family was to Sherlock, a detriment.

Although he was accepted at Oxford at sixteen, Mycroft had delayed going for almost a year.

Father would no longer tolerate a delay so Mycroft left Sherlock for the first time.

The day Mycroft first left for Uni, Sherlock had broken his own rule and pat Mycroft on the shoulder stiffly, and then shook his hand. However, instead of letting go, Sherlock embraced Mycroft briefly, looked him in the eyes, and then walked away.

Mycroft had been just seventeen and Sherlock had only been ten.

Although it was never said, Mycroft believed that Sherlock never forgave him for leaving that day. Mycroft never forgave himself.

A part of him had known that Sherlock needed him but father had both of their futures planned. Father would not tolerate Sherlock's wish to become a scientist. A life in government service was his planned future for both Holmes boys.

Mycroft obediently followed, Sherlock rebelled.

Mycroft smiled at the memory and the truth that Sherlock always rebelled.

Speaking of rebelling, Mycroft thought, he had to release Sherlock tomorrow or Sherlock would simply disappear and move around on this own. Security detail or no security detail if Sherlock wanted to disappear he would.

His little brother was particularly gifted when it came to disappearing.

Sherlock would be allowed to leave, but he would of course have him followed.

Mycroft thought of the second problem.

This was that Sherlock needed to speak to someone about his recent distasteful experiences.

His brother had been through much trauma of late. A lesser man would have broken under its weight, but not his little brother.

He had no doubt that John had somehow convinced him to open up. Mycroft marveled at how John seemed to be able to get Sherlock, to do things willingly, that not even he could get him to do with all the cajoling or hounding in the world.

Mycroft had to admit that he needed to know that his brother was ok, and although John was good for Sherlock, he would not betray Sherlock's confidence.

He considered the fact that he could ask Sherlock directly, but that might involve… feelings and talking about … feelings.

Mycroft almost shuddered at the thought.

Mycroft's mind quickly calculated three solutions to that problem and the possible outcomes of each solution if chosen.

He then decided on the one with the statistical likelihood of succeeding in his favor not Sherlock's.

Mycroft smiled.

He let go of the glass and picked up his phone.

The line rang twice before his brother's familiar voice picked it up.

"_Mycroft up late, thinking are you." Sherlock's voice traveled though the phone line._

"Dear brother, How would you like to be the sole possessor of the one and only remaining video tape of your… um… **experiment** at Cambridge?" Mycroft could not help his smile.

There was a brief silence before Sherlock answered.

"_I'm listening…"_


	121. Chapter 117

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 117

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

Snog is to kiss enthusiastically.

Uni short for University.

**Love to all**.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Our greatest problems in life come not so much from the situations we confront as from our <strong>_

_**doubts about our ability to handle them."**_ ~ Susan Taylor

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

John sat up in bed; With the exception of the night Sherlock was rescued from Ayyad, he usually did not have trouble sleeping.

At least not in a year or so since his own set of night terrors about the war had stopped.

John exhaled deeply and dry wiped his eyes. He had a dream but could not remember what it was. It retreated when he woke. Almost, like the edges of a shadow retreats when the rising sun shines on it.

At least it was not a nightmare John acknowledged gratefully.

It was probably just his body trying to process all the current drama that had occurred recently in both his life and especially Sherlock's.

John made a decision that he would have tea.

He would be careful to avoid the more stimulation ones or he would most certainly be up the remainder of the night. John sighed again but did not bother to put on his dressing coat or slippers.

John realized that his hair was standing on end, but it did not matter. Even Sherlock should be asleep at three fifty in the morning.

Even if he was not asleep, they were roommates. They had both seen each other with their hair sticking up in strange places before.

John stopped and froze.

He thought he heard something, whispered voices coming from Sherlock's room.

"Damn it," John whispered as he quickly and quietly made his way back to his room.

He was at Sherlock door with gun drawn, ready to come into Sherlock's room in a moment.

He put his hand on the doorknob, deciding if he should slam the door in quickly, or quietly opens and hope for surprise.

He heard it then, Sherlock whispering in an angry voice, "I… said… no."

Quiet, John decided.


	122. Chapter 118

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 118

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

Snog is to kiss enthusiastically.

Uni short for University.

**Love to all**.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Our greatest problems in life come not so much from the situations we confront as from our <strong>_

_**doubts about our ability to handle them."**_ ~ Susan Taylor

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

John took a deep breath, his training as a soldier kicking in, sent up a prayer and slowly open the door in the darken hallway.

"Do you have any idea what I went through, so that you could remain hidden, safe?" Sherlock whispered angrily while towering over the smaller women.

Sherlock did not attempt to cover his anger.

He was several meters from her face with fisted hands at his side.

"What was I supposed to do; I could tell by your text that something was wrong. First I don't hear from you for nineteen days then when I do your misspelling words and telling me to go under, lay low."

Irene Adler whispered in a tone that relayed fury as she waved one hand dramatically in the air, "You never misspell anything; I could tell you were hurt. I'm not an idiot, Mr. Holmes"

Sherlock suddenly stilled himself and took one-step closer until he was impossible close to her face, then said with a condescending smile, "As to whether or not you're an idiot Ms. Adler, that remains to be seen. I once thought you too intelligent for such, **emotional **mistakes. Apparently this is the very rare instant that I was wrong."

Adler's body stiffened suddenly in response to Sherlock's words then she spoke.

"Piss off, Mr. Holmes," Irene Adler said the words slowly while returning glare for glare.

Sherlock stared down at Irene and she stared back up at him. Their heavy breathing was the only thing that broke the silence.

Curious, John thought to himself. He had been there a whole of three minutes and neither one noticed. They were a bit distracted apparently.

John looked around the room. It was dim with only the light from the table. Sherlock was still in his midnight blue suit from the day before. Ms. Adler was in a fitted a black pantsuit with high-heeled shoes.

Her hair was down and curled, flowing softly draping her shoulders. The hair surprised John; He was used to seeing her with it swept up and pinned.

She looked softer that way, John determined.

They were still staring at each other, John noted.

Now that he thought about it, their breathing was picking up not slowing down.

They both look like they could not decide if they wanted to shoot each other, snog or both. Probably both, John decided.

John frowned as images came unbidden to his mind. Did she just put her hand on his… **OK THAT'S IT! **

John cleared his throat.

Loudly.

Twice.

Both seemed to notice him for the first time and took a step back simultaneously.

Sherlock, had a look, as if he was a cat caught with a bird in his mouth.

They both stared at the outline of John in the darkened doorway, wordlessly.

Sherlock looked him up and down in the dim light, and noticed the long forgotten gun hanging down from one hand.

"John… Um… Ms. Adler was just relaying information; that is to say…" Sherlock frowned and looked at the floor as he spoke.

John noticed the stutter; Sherlock only stuttered in moments of extreme mental stress. Sherlock rarely has moments of extreme mental stress.

More curious.

John stepped in graciously. "Ms. Adler, alive I see… oh…, nice suit; Sherlock, tea?"

Ms. Adler recovered and walked over to John putting one hand on his chest, and kissed his cheek, lingering a little longer than needed.

Neither noticed the flash in Sherlock's eyes.

"John," she said, "You look well. Tea would be lovely." She walked away toward the kitchen leaving a trail of her soft scent. The flip of a light switch could be heard and the soft glow of a nearby light filtered into the bedroom illuminating it more.

"Coming Sherlock?" Ms. Adler's voice trailed softly, almost sweetly.

Sherlock both glared in the direction of her voice and let out a huff of frustration but then followed after retrieving a manila envelope.

John let out a sigh; of all the things he envisioned, this certainly was not one.

"Well," John said quietly to himself, at least she had clothes on this time. Images flooded John's mind.

"Don't be a div," John told himself, as he shook his head, he needed to clear his mind of the images. Although he admitted, he was not in a particular hurry to do so.

John walked back to his room to secure his gun and get his dressing gown. Second thought, he might as well get dressed. And, it was time for a shower, cold.


	123. Chapter 119

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 118

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

Snog is to kiss enthusiastically.

Uni short for University.

**Love to all**.

* * *

><p><em><strong>"I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O <strong>_

_**God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains**_!"

~William Shakespeare Othello

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

When John walked into the kitchen, they were sitting at the table talking. Sherlock was on the internet on his phone. He nodded as Irene gave numbers and codes.

A cup of tea was already in front of an empty chair. John now dressed in a patterned jumper and trousers, wordlessly nodded thanks, then took his seat.

Both finished their sentence then looked toward John. Irene was smiling. Sherlock had a concerned look on his face.

"Tea still hot? You were in there for a while." Irene said with a smile. "Do you like it hot John; I like it hot… tea that is. I could… come… over there and heat it up for you."

John cleared his throat to rid himself of a little tea that had gone down the wrong way. "It's fine, thanks."

Sherlock ignored them both still searching his phone.

"So," John said trying to steer the subject, "How did you manage to get in here with Mycroft's man outside?"

Both stopped what they were doing and gave John the "Don't be an idiot" stare.

"Ok," John said quietly holding up one hand.

Sherlock resumed his search, on the internet as Irene quietly watched. Her smile faded and mood dramatically changed, as she glanced at Sherlock hands and saw the almost faded discolorations that looked like bruises from handcuffs.

She studied him now.

There was a bruise on his jaw but that seemed new.

She noticed the faintest hints of an old fading facial bruise. She also noticed the way he held his body, a little stiff even now.

He had been badly injured then, of course. Her suspicions were right.

He was probably in a hospital in a coma or ventilator somewhere during the time she could not reach him.

In addition, the misspell text warning to her were probably texted from his hospital bed when he became conscious using a borrowed phone. She, at first, did not know that the text was from Sherlock, because she did not recognize the number.

John frowned slightly noticing the shift in her mood but said nothing.

She turned away embarrassed and blinked back tears.

This last year with Sherlock coming in and out of her life had changed her, not completely but enough that it scared her.

She had never been weak or vulnerable; but cold and calculating, a born survivor.

Irene smoothly got up and walked slightly to the back of Sherlock watching him a she sipped on her tea.

Now she was running around the world doing … **good**… when did that happen. On top of everything, Sherlock was determined to get himself killed for a bunch of average minded morons, which could not on their best day match she and Sherlock's superior minds.

Let them die, or be killed, or get blown to hell, what does that have to do with them, with her, she wondered with anger.

In addition, damn it, she was even fond of John!

The embarrassing tears persisted.

Sherlock was close, so why not she thought. I am hurting, and pain loves company after all.

She wiped discreetly at her eyes and put on her mask. She then walked back to the table and faced Sherlock.

Irene was all business now.

"Why did you not give me up?" Irene asked with a cold smile. "You were obviously tortured, or worse. What exactly did they **do** to you Mr. Holmes?"

John was shocked by the coldness of her tone.

John put his cup down and anger flashed in his eyes. Did she not realize that Sherlock was not just protecting them but her as well?

Would she even care?

John thought to himself about how wrong he was, to have thought that she had changed, just a little.

"Sherlock, would you like me to go?" John asked.

John wanted to stay and support Sherlock, but thought he should ask.

"Stay John," Sherlock said with a small forced smile, appreciative of John's gesture.

Sherlock raised himself up, and looked Adler up and down once he walked over to where she was.

"Do you really want to know Mrs. Adler? Would you like to know the details or the general description of events?" Sherlock's voice was surprisingly level and soothing, even gentle.

She rose to her full height, which even in heals was still a foot shorter that Sherlock. "Why didn't you at least give me up, you owe me nothing." She spat out with less venom, she façade breaking.

Sherlock looked at Adler, searching her. She could not maintain eye contact during Sherlock's scrutiny. She broke and looked away from his eyes down to the floor.

"I would have given you up," Adler stated weakly, "without a thought in fact."

"You are lying," Sherlock said simply, as he tilted her chin upward so that her face was no longer looking down but her eyes stared into his blue gray orbs. Sherlock showed no embarrassment that John was there.

Sherlock held one of her hands in his, his other hand remained under her chin.

"Why?" He seemed be asking himself rather than asking her. He searched both her face and his own mind.

Sherlock inhaled and held a breath; then his body stilled as realization came to him. Irene simple stared back surrendering.

"John," Sherlock's said, his eyes never left Adler's.

John knowing Sherlock was ok gave them space.

"I think I'll get a little more sleep, be back in an hour." John started walking away.

"Two hours," Sherlock said simply.

John walked away with a raised eyebrow and glanced back.

Maybe, he had better make it three.

* * *

><p>AN: update as soon as possible. Love to all. Please comment.


	124. Chapter 120

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 120

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

**Love to all**.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"The one unchangeable certainty is that nothing is certain or unchangeable."<em> **-John F. Kennedy

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

* * *

><p>It would be dawn soon; the sky was already starting to become lighter. John heard voices talking as he entered the kitchen.<p>

"What about Mycroft?" Adler questioned.

"As a last resort. I think I'll ease your being back in London to him. If he saw you now, he would take you into custody. Give me a few weeks to negotiate with him; you've rather… misbehaved last time you were here." Sherlock face held a grave look now as he added, "Maybe that would be for the best, at least you would be safe until this is all concluded."

Adler looked almost sad when saying, "Sherlock, you know I don't do well with four walls and a locked door, it's worse than death to me."

Sherlock nodded, he understood. In some ways, they were very much alike. In _some_ ways.

Sherlock resumed drinking his coffee.

Alder was dressed casually now. Her hair was in a ponytail and most of the makeup washed off. Apparently, she had taken a shower. Her usual suit was gone in place of black blue jeans and trainers. She looks years younger and nothing like her usual self.

That was probably the idea.

"Sherlock, she hesitated there's one more thing. You were right, before I left I heard talk about Ayyad and one last big bomb. This one is different. It is on a timer, once started; it can only be stopped with a code. I was unable to get it. Your mind palace, maybe it's stored along with the other information you found," Adler said hopefully.

"Not there, looked. It will be on the person of Ayyad himself. He would not trust anyone else with it, not even his generals." Sherlock said matter of fact as he sipped his coffee.

Sherlock locked eyes with John then motioned with his head toward the steaming cup of coffee already out.

At Johns questioning look, Sherlock smiled.

"Don't worry John, I told you I'm through experimenting," Sherlock said with a mock look of offense. "At least no more today," Sherlock whispered quietly to himself.

John relaxed and took a sip of the brown liquid, "Um."

"You'd better get going it will be light out soon." Sherlock handed her a manila envelope. "This has everything you need."

John eyed the envelope curiously but said nothing.

Adler opened it and looked at Sherlock with surprise. "How did you know I was coming?"

Sherlock took another sip of coffee but said nothing.

"You'd better get going," Sherlock had moved to the window's corner, pulling the curtain back slightly, he then glanced at the street.

"Now would be a good time." Sherlock suggested.

"Oh, you may need this as well," Sherlock pulled a key out of his trouser pocket.

Sherlock had showered as well and had a different suit on. Black this time with a mauve colored shirt. "You'll need transportation, try not to demolish this one."

Both Adler and Sherlock held each other's gaze.

She took the key in her hand, Sherlock's hand lingered on the key. He did not let go of it right away. She held the key as her finger trace the juncture of Sherlock thumb to tip as she finally took the key from him and he finally let go.

John's eyebrows rose as he noticed the discreet gesture but said nothing. He just sipped his coffee.

They both remained close for a few seconds.

Sherlock's frown returned as he examined Adler's face. She did not look away but smiled slightly, squeezed one of his wrists, then broke eye contact as she moved away.

Adler kissed John, "I'm sorry John," she said quietly to just herself and John, "Please watch him, sometimes he's so focused on saving everyone else, he…"

"He forgets we would risk our lives if it meant saving him." John smiled and kissed her back on the cheek.

"Be careful I may actually like you one day," Irene did something very un-Adler like that caused John great amusement; she giggled.

John could not help but to laugh back.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked at the two curiously while still standing by the window.

Irene turned to leave. Sherlock spoke, "You will text me when you reach your destination, Ms. Adler."

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Holmes." Adler said firmly.

Sherlock said nothing but raised an eyebrow as he stood in her way. Adler signed

"As soon as I arrive, Mr. Holmes." Adler shook her head.

Sherlock moved out of her way then.

Adler decided that she was developing bad habits. Only three months ago, she said _please_ to Sherlock, now she told John _sorry_. Adler sighed dramatically, all in the same year.

Irene nodded to both men, picked up her backpack, and then with a wink, she disappeared out a window.

Sherlock watched her disappear around the corner.

* * *

><p>Sherlock sighed then walked back and sat down with John. Both men sat quietly until John could stand it no longer.<p>

"Anything you want to share with me Sherlock," John said trying to sound casual.

"Not particularly, John." Sherlock eyes traveled in the opposite direction of John.

_Silence_

More coffee

"So," John started.

"Yes John," Sherlock sighed slightly annoyed.

"Get any sleep," John sipped on his coffee.

"Not much," Sherlock replied.

"I bet," John, said casually as he took another sip.

Sherlock's eyes turned to John, slightly more annoyed

John looked innocently at Sherlock.

Sherlock put down his coffee and spoke, "John, I am only interested in things that expand my mind."

"The expand part I believe," John said under his breath as he sipped the beverage. Sherlock heard.

"Don't be vulgar, John."

"Don't live in denial, Sherlock."

"She's, an…, ally an…, associate…," Sherlock searched for the words.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" John asked.

"You're not going to let this go?"

"Nope," John smirked

Sherlock sighed and took another sip of coffee before speaking.

"Ask."

John took a slow sip of coffee crossed his legs leaned back then raised his eyebrows looking at Sherlock.

"No." Sherlock answered the unasked question.

"You've both showered and changed." John gave Sherlock the look.

"Am I not allowed to take a shower?" Sherlock sounded offended as his voice raised slightly.

"There only one shower down here Sherlock and no one used mine." John stated suspiciously.

"We managed." Sherlock said through tight lips.

"Ok, ok, no need to get tetchy." John raised his hands. "It was a cold shower then." John smirked.

" Look If, and I do mean If, I ever decide to take that step with anyone, which is doubtful by the way, I would have to trust that person with more than my fact, figures and terrorist codes; I have to trust that person with the deepest part of my admittedly complicated self. The development of the mind is too important to me, John." Sherlock sighed again.

_Silence_

"Is there anyone you feel that way about, have ever felt that way about, Adler or otherwise?" John wondered.

Sherlock did not answer but looked at John strangely as if he still had his own questions.

Sherlock continued to look at John strangely; he opened his mouth to speak then frowned, and closed it saying nothing.

John wondered if Sherlock knew the answer.

John gave Sherlock a moment after noticing the look of contemplation on his face.

"And you don't feel this way with Adler." John made a statement.

_Silence_

"Do you trust Adler?" John questioned gently.

"Almost completely." Sherlock said without hesitation.

John was quiet and thought for a moment.

"I see the way you look at each other, Sherlock. Are you going to sit there and tell me you're not… _intrigued_ by her?" John questioned.

"I did not say that, John, but urges of the body can be overcome with discipline."

John looked at Sherlock before asking, "How close were you to… changing statues?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Close John… very close," Sherlock confessed tiredly.

"The point is John, technically nothing happened. Besides, I **married** to my work, remember." Sherlock explained.

"Careful Sherlock. I've noticed some changes in you lately." John sipped more coffee. Sherlock turned to look at John with a questioning look in his eyes. John added.

"I think you're close to adultery."

* * *

><p>Author note: I noticed with several chapters, I keep doing the multiple version thing. I think this one worked best with the current story line.<p>

Hope everyone's doing well.


	125. Chapter 121

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 121

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

Hi everyone, I was not quite sure about what was already written so I changed some things. Let me know your thoughts.

It begins, teddy bear alerts from here onward.

* * *

><p><em><strong>"True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be <strong>__**lost.**_"~ Charles Caleb Colton

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

John normally liked it quiet but found it difficult to be completely relaxed.

The pass week and a half have been quiet, very quiet. There were no guns, no bombs, no explosion of any kind, and no little girl to rescue, yet John was on edge.

John closed his computer. He had begun to blog again. It was heartwarming the outpour of support for Sherlock Holmes.

He was blogging about some of the older cases. He had no intentions of the past several weeks becoming public knowledge except to thank everyone who sent their best wished Sherlock's way for a speedy recovery from his _minor_ injuries.

If only the public knew the truth about Sherlock's sacrifice what would they think, John wondered. In John's heart, Sherlock had always been a hero.

John smiled as he wondered how he could get a new picture of Sherlock in a Deerstalker hat.

The other thing that made him smile was the thought of Mary. Two days ago, she dropped off files that Mycroft requested Sherlock review.

John sipped on his Earl Gray tea. The detective, agent, whatever she was; had gotten it for him. Mary Myers somehow found out about his particular love of tea beverages.

He found the small package on his doorstep gift wrapped early in the morning.

It was an unexpected and thoughtful gift.

Myers seemed to love to throw him off balance he had noticed. His smile widened at the memory of what Mary had said.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

John opened his mouth, unsure of how to react when Mary clarified, "Your gun, I can tell you're carrying one. You really need a better holster. Are you even supposed to be carrying that thing?"

For almost seven days, John kept this gun on him almost constantly while awake. The reason was simple; it was to protect Sherlock.

It was to protect Sherlock against Ayyad's men; it was also to protect Sherlock against Mrs. Hudson should any more holes materialize on her walls.

"Oh yes. I have special papers it seems that Mycroft has given both Sherlock and I a title, I'm not even sure what it is but it gives both of us the right to carry weapons. Although I admit that no one trust Sherlock with a weapon unless absolutely necessary."

"Understandable," Mary said as she turned to leave. "By the way be careful, I wouldn't want you to waste a bullet shooting yourself." Mary then walked away ponytail bobbing.

Maybe he should see if she was free for lunch when all this was over, John considered.

Maybe.

John was so deep in thought that he barely noticed that Sherlock was dressed and heading out the door.

"Sorry Sherlock, I lost track of the time. I'm ready just let me get my mobile," John grabbed his coat off the chair and motioned to stand up.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and wordlessly took John's coat away and hung it up.

Sherlock looked John up and down with a frown.

"John you can't follow me everywhere I go."

"I did before," John said with a smirk.

"Funny John," Sherlock said with sarcasms.

"Didn't know you recognize humor," John said with equal sarcasm.

"What are you planning to do, put your ear to the door and see if I wail uncontrollably?" Sherlock wondered.

"Now, that would be a change wouldn't it," John asked while attempting to get up again. "Sherlock I don't mind really!"

Sherlock looked slightly annoyed and amused.

"While I appreciate your attention, we both know you need a break. You're starting to get dark circles under your eyes. And, even though you don't have nightmares you get up at least once nightly and peek in my room to make sure that I am ok and don't have several of Ayyad's men pointing guns at me while I sleeping unaware."

John asked flustered, "How did you know…, never mind."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something else but instead sniffed the air.

"New tea?" Sherlock asked.

"Ah… yes," John said

"Earl Gray," It wasn't really a question. Sherlock sniffed again.

"Yes," John said slightly frowning. He could have sworn he saw Sherlock flash a faint smile but could not be certain.

Sherlock looked at John curiously then returned to the subject at hand.

"John, I've arranged for a taxi to pick me up. The same taxi will wait and bring me home. Mycroft's paying for the taxi, of course." Sherlock waited for John to process.

John was silent for a moment.

"I still don't like it. I'm surprised that you agreed to Mycroft's request. This will be your third session. Are you even sure that he'll hand over the evidence of your… debauchery." John had a slight smirk.

Sherlock looked slightly insulted.

"As I said John it was an **experiment**. And, for all of Mycroft's faults, he is a man of his word."

John smiled almost wickedly as he asked, "Care to explain what's on that video of you at Cambridge?"

"I'd rather die," Sherlock said flatly with raised eyebrows.

John mind wandered for a moment as he imagined a very young, very drunk, sleep deprived and God forbid, a very bored Sherlock.

"… John did you hear a word of what I just said? And why are you smiling?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"Oh… nothing, sorry," John could not quite erase all the amusement from his face.

"Well as I was saying, rest. I'll be back in two hours, I'll call you as soon as I get out of my… uh… session." Sherlock turned to move over to the window, but he looked at John first.

John nodded with a slight frown now.

"Oh, Sherlock, if you have any hope of winning your little contest with Mycroft, you may want to leave all the deductions out of your sessions until you at least reach the … uh… what was it, the six sessions minimal that you both agreed on." John twisted his body in the chair so that he was looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock cleared his throat but said nothing.

"Sherlock?" John frowned.

Sherlock seemed a little agitated now.

"Sherlock!" it was John's turn to narrow his eyes.

"Well, what do you expect? I am who I am. It's not like a faucet that I can turn on and off." Sherlock folded his arms defensively.

A thought suddenly occurred to John.

"Mycroft doesn't think that you will last six sessions despite this person's reputation for being able to work with difficult…," John, at the intense look on Sherlock's face, decided to pick his words more carefully, "… um… I mean extraordinary people."

Sherlock was contemplative for a minute, "I've deduce as much, but Mycroft will not win this time."

John wondered why everything between the brothers had to be a battle of wills or a contest.

John sighed.

He turned back in his chair and picked back up his cup.

"Two hours Sherlock and, call me in an hour. Oh, and call me if you're going to be late or change plans in any way or I'm calling out the troops!" That was code for Mycroft.

Sherlock looked annoyed but decided to be indulgent only because this was John. Anyone else would have felt Sherlock's full wrath by now.

"Yes mother," Sherlock smiled as he looked out the window. He had timed the cab to arrive ten minutes ago. Sherlock frowned slightly. He was usually correct give and take a minute. Sherlock wondered silently if he was off his game today.

"Cab," Sherlock said as he watched the cab driver pull up. He ignored his gloves; he still took his scarf even though it really was not cold enough for it.

John watched him leave as he added, "Two hours,"

Sherlock paused with half his body in and half out of the doorway.

"Oh John, you should give her a call. She's much more interesting that those dull and predictable morons that you usually snog."

John turned quickly.

"Enjoy your tea," Sherlock said sweetly.

"Sherlock…" John was about to argue but the sound of the door closing stopped the intended argument.

"Smart arse," John said while trying to decide if he should be offended at his presumption or take Sherlock's advice to heart.

"Always has to one-up everyone," John looked at his watch and noticed the time. "Two hours," he said to himself. He tried to relax.

He sighed.

"Two hours."

Maybe crap telly will help, John thought.

* * *

><p>Ayyad looked at London as his private jet flew low in approach for a landing.<p>

One of his generals called. Ayyad was told Veselý's plan had begun.

Ayyad was told that they would have him in their custody in a few hours. Ayyad was promised that he would have him an hour later.

He smiled and looked out the window.

He would deal with him personally.


	126. Chapter 122

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 122

**A/N:** More to come; let me know your thoughts. (Update soon request, I heard you.)

Thanks for reading, a **special thanks** to all who reviewed recently.

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><p><strong>"<strong>_**Kites rise highest against the wind—not with it."**__**~ Winston Churchill**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock walked back to the cab. He smoothly got into the back seat and sat back. He was lost deep in thought. He glanced back at the familiar black sedan that followed a car behind. Mycroft's man had opted for several days to not blend in, but instead stand out as a deterrence and a warning.

Sherlock normally, would have argued but chose not to. He knew it would make John more comfortable he also knew that all things considered, it was probably a good idea at least for a few more weeks. Sherlock was very private and did not think he could tolerate his every move being watched longer than that.

The session left him drained. His counselor was not a complete idiot. She had not allowed him to manipulate the conversation, deflect any questions, or change the subject in any way. She stayed on point.

He thought he would stay six sessions, say a few insincere phrases and words and walk away without revealing anything of himself. He thought he might even get one or two experiments on human reactions and interactions in.

Apparently, Doctor Pavlov would not allow it.

Worse of all, she somehow managed to get him to finally open up today without him even realizing at first what he was doing.

It was horrible, Sherlock decided. He was talking about…_ feelings_.

She was good. Sherlock smiled tiredly. He wondered with humor if he could both admire and detest her at the same time.

Sherlock sighed then joked to himself. Maybe John would get his wish and by the next session, he really would be wailing behind closed doors. Maybe John could tape the event, put the entire thing on YouTube, and get on with it.

Sherlock shook his head. To think, John thought he could not recognize humor.

He did he just choose to ignore it.

Sherlock got out thirty minutes early. He thought about stopping by the tea shop close to the flat and restocking John's special blend. Strangely, John had not been very happy that Sherlock used the last bag.

Sherlock told the driver to make a stop and gave an address to the teashop as he prepared to call John and tell him about the expected delay.

The driver did not change direction. He looked almost upset; he had a grim look and sped through a changing traffic light.

Sherlock's mouth opened silently as he put his hands in his coat pocket and frantically push in codes in his phone. He stared in horror at the quickly approaching truck.

Sights, sounds, sensation, were what Sherlock remembered.

_Sights_

The approach of the truck, flashes of light, bits and pieces of broken up images, darkness. Disjointed faces floated above him. Then nothing.

_Sounds_

The roar of an engine, the sound of a gasp, the squeal of tires, the crunch of metal, the shatter of glass. The sudden popping sound of deploying airbags. Distant muffles screams and shouts, the throbbing of blood in the ears. The fading voice of the world. Then nothing.

_Sensation_

The world slowed down to a crawl, a breath being quickly inhaled as arms reflectively cover the face, being violently thrown against the opposite door of impact. Gravity pulling the body to the right as the world spins at a dizzying speed. Seatbelt biting into the skin as it is pulled to the maximum. Sudden radiating pain from the right thigh, torso, shoulder and head. Then nothing.

* * *

><p>The young man was on his way home and smiling. He would ask her to marry him on Friday. She had been throwing hints his way. The young man smiled at the memory. He pretended not to notice but he had. He was scared but not anymore. He loved her and was ready. He put his hand in his blue jean pocket and smiled as he felt the small box.<p>

The young man's attention was drawn away from his thoughts as he saw a cab going full speed through a traffic light. He stared in horror as a truck was heading toward a cab.

A crash and the cab went into a spin. Debris was flying in the streets. Screams were heard, then smoke. He froze stunned for a few minutes then he started to run toward the wreckage.

Before he could reach an ambulance drove up and two trucks. How can emergency services get here so fast, the young man wondered.

They were yanking a tall pale man with dark hair out of the backseat. Everyone else was ignored. He ran fast enough to see the man loaded onto the trolley. The man on the trolley opened his eyes briefly and looked at him. He moved his mouth as if he wanted to say something. He reached out a hand toward the young man and he thought he heard a whispered word.

"Mycroft?" The young man repeated puzzled.

Someone with a gruff expression pushed him physically back so that he almost tripped. "Emergency, stay out the way."

The man looked almost murderous.

Something knotted in his stomach. Something was not right. He had been a nurse for only over a year but these people acted nothing like his colleagues.

He saw several other people running and walking toward the accident.

What happen next would leave nightmares for a week.

A car in black pulled up. A man in a suit came running with gun in hand and tried to block the ambulance. Several men from a car opened fire on the man in the black suit. The ambulance speed away. The sound of bullets hitting flesh was heard. A few grunts of pain.

People scattered, screamed and ran as they ducked behind cars, in buildings and around walls.

The young man's arm folded reflectively in front of his face as he ran for his life. He felt the sound of a bullet whizzing pass his head. The young man ran the short distance to his left and slammed his body molding it to the side of the building.

The young man, with shaking hands, took out his mobile and called emergency services.

He told them of his location and then hesitated briefly. He then told them something he thought the man on the trolley said to him, as he briefly looked him in the eyes before his eyes closed. Feeling a little foolish, the young man spoke into the phone.

"I… I think he said the word… Mycroft."

* * *

><p>Anthea walked quickly up to Mycroft as he sat in one of his offices. He knew it was serious when she did not bother to knock. Mycroft immediately stood and looked at her.<p>

"Mr. Holmes we have a hit. A traffic accident. Someone said the victim whispered the word Mycroft."

"Protocol twenty nine," he said with a frown.

Anthea's fingers danced across her phone. Mycroft called Sherlock. He squeezed the bridge of his nose when there was no answer. "Check on everyone."

"I want the city shut down," Mycroft managed to say while dialing. He picked up the phone to call agent Thomas.


	127. Chapter 123

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 123

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

**Love and Cookies**

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong>_**Kites rise highest against the wind—not with it."**__**~ Winston Churchill**_

* * *

><p>Veselý cursed as he rode in the car. Sherlock was in the back seat.<p>

Sherlock's eyes were closed but he had stopped groaning. Two soldiers were sitting beside him. On the left and one on the right as Veselý had ordered.

The ambulance was being driven by one of the lower level solders in the opposite direction. By the time police caught up the ambulance, they would find an unconscious body not Sherlock Holmes. It would take them hours to sort out the mess, by then it would have been too late.

"What happened?" Veselý said with barely contained wrath.

"The cabby, something made him panic and set him off. He ran the light and crashed twenty minutes earlier than instructed. If we were not trailing him, the entire thing could have been a disaster." The soldier in the back seat said.

"Could have been a disaster, **Could** have been a disaster." Veselý laughed without humor as he twisted his body to look at the face of the soldier in the back seat who spoke.

"A well known detective with motivated friends get into an accident in the middle of the busiest part of London with multiple witnesses in broad daylight! **Is there anything I'm missing**?" Veselý was so angry that spit was flying from his lips to land on the soldier that spoke.

With trembling voice the soldier in the back seat said, "We do have him sir, although I admit that your instructions were not followed… exactly."

"We do," Veselý conceded, "Let's hope that we can hold on to him this time," he said grimly.

Veselý's eyes turned away from the soldier to Holmes.

He eyed him suspiciously then sighed. "I thought that I told you to tell me when he woke up?" The soldier in the back frowned, "Yes sir I will."

Veselý rolled his eyes.

He had inherited Němec's men. Veselý would have preferred his own, but the reign on the city was so tight. It was difficult to get anything or anyone in or out. He had to make due. So far, Veselý was not impressed.

"He's awake," Veselý said through gritted teeth.

"Come Mr. Holmes, very clever but you're among friend no need to be shy. Or do I need to break a finger to prove a point"

"No need," Sherlock said tiredly. He was more intelligent than others were, Sherlock noted.

He opened his eyes to a throbbing headache, pain, and a wave of nausea. He squinted.

"Headache," Veselý asked.

"Yes, would you happen to have anything for it," Sherlock asked conversationally.

"I'm afraid what I have for it will not make it better," Veselý said almost regretfully.

Sherlock knew the voice he quickly searched his mind. His eyes became wide with recognition.

"Yes Mr. Holmes we do know each other."

"You were at the warehouse," Sherlock said slowly. Sherlock remembered him being at the warehouse but leaving after he was turned over to **her**.

Sherlock deduced him.

Soldier for hire from a young age, not malicious by nature as most of them were, but cruel through learned behavior. Pride, some code of honor. Does not agree with excessive cruelty but with carry orders out successfully without remorse. No formal higher education but above average intelligence. He would carry out Ayyad's orders not only to the letter but effectively.

"Sir," The driver said, "another police car," Sherlock's head was pushed down into the lap of one of the soldiers. Not the most comfortable place to be, Sherlock noted to himself.

"Drive slowly," Veselý said, "They're looking for an ambulance or a truck not a car."

Veselý turned to quickly look in the back a few blocks later.

"Search his pockets."

Both soldiers pulled on Sherlock's hand and force it up as they rummages roughly through his pocket Sherlock resisted even as he knew that resistance was useless. Sherlock's phone was quickly handed to the soldier then handed it to Veselý.

Veselý turned the phone over and examined it. "Anything you want to tell me Mr. Holmes?"

"Not particularly," Sherlock said evenly as he fought against another wave of dizziness.

He was much quicker than the others, Sherlock thought grimly.

"Let me guess some kind of tracking system," Veselý said as he took out the batteries and put both the phone and the batteries in his pocket.

"Who is the unpleasant looking man with the umbrella that seems to shadow you? Our contact told us that he was your brother. Not even our deepest sources can tell us specifics about him. There's no record of any kind. No public information. It's like he's a walking ghost. He's something in the government, yes?"

Sherlock frowned and did not answer.

Veselý nodded then two men in the back seat held Sherlock as they struggled. Sherlock managed to elbow one. Stunned he temporarily let go then regained control over him again. The angry solder then hit him in the side out of revenge.

"Bring him closer."

The driver knew Veselý enough to pull into an alley.

"Drive slowly," He said needlessly.  
>Veselý pulled back his hand then struck with the palm hard toward the aorta. The painful blow caused his heart to skip a beat and temporarily stunned the nerves causes Sherlock to experience a strangling sensation.<p>

He gasped wide eyed unable to inhale or exhale. It lasted only a few minutes but felt like forever.

Sherlock vision started to blur from the lack of oxygen. When Sherlock oxygen deprived body was finally able to inhale, he gulped in huge volumes of air. Sweat broke out as he concentrated on the simple task of breathing.

Veselý held Sherlock's head in his hand by the chin. Sherlock blinked back the dizziness as he tried to regain control of his body.

"Mr. Holmes who… is… he?"

"S… Someone… who will… find… me… Someone who will … find you." Sherlock managed as he regained control.

"I see Mr. Holmes. But do you see? I will personally put your phone battery back in and tell them where to find you. In a few hours that is."

He looked Sherlock in the eyes and Sherlock looked at him.

Suddenly pandemonium broke out in the back seat. Sherlock was dizzy and felt weak but that did not seem to stop him.

Veselý grew impatient and ducked as he barely missed a punch.

"There are two of you. How can you not control one man?"

The sound of someone grunting as their nose was broken was heard.

Veselý sighed and took out a gun.

"Stop Mr. Holmes or I will shoot." If Sherlock heard, he gave no indications that he did. As they were about to exit the alley another police car drove by.

Veselý cursed in two languages. There is no way that he could drive on the road without someone, a pedestrian or a person in a car noticing the struggle.

He cursed the name of Holmes. He then made a decision.

"Plan B gentlemen."


	128. Chapter 124

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 124

**Warning: **post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

**Changed this one a bit, hope you enjoy. Tell me your thoughts. Thanks for reading, a special thanks to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>I was a born troublemaker and might as well earn a living at it<strong>_." ~ Bill Mauldin

* * *

><p>Holmes had not stopped struggling since the car.<p>

Half an hour later, he was still struggling. It was obvious to everyone present that he was exhausted. He was nearing the end of his physical ability to keep fighting. At least that is what everyone present hoped.

Veselý frowned as he watched the three men struggling with Holmes. He was currently being dragged into the room. He seemed as if he was about to collapse seconds ago. Now, he seemed as if he somehow renewed his determination and energy.

Three soldiers could barely contain the man. The soldiers had bruises on them to punctuate that point. Veselý himself barely missed being punched three times. He was dangerous in enclosed spaces like a car, they had discovered.

Veselý shook his head.

If it was up to him, Holmes would have been shot and his body dumped in an alley somewhere. But, that was not the orders.

"Hold him you fools!" One soldier was on his bum, stunned. Another was in the process of tackling Holmes to try and regain control.

Veselý, not for the first time that day, rolled his eyes.

Veselý smiled darkly, although he would never admit it out loud, he would take one Holmes to four of these incompetent fools any day.

Something rare happened then, a wave of regret washed through him. He did not normally feel any emotion toward his assignments, except maybe amusement at them when they beg for their lives. But, Holmes was a fighter. He could not help but admire a fighter.

It is what kept him alive at sixteen when his mother died; there had been no father, no other relative that wanted him, Veselý remembered. Being a fighter is what kept him alive.

"Box him in with your bodies on both sides; twist his arms behind his body. You, put your arm securely around his neck, put your foot between his legs," Veselý gave instructions. After a brief struggle, they finally had Sherlock immobile.

Veselý sighed relieved. He looked over Holmes and his men. Everyone but him was breathing heavily.

"Mr. Holmes, here we are."

Sherlock did not give an answer.

Holmes, Veselý noticed, had sweat that plastered his shirt to his body, he looked disheveled, a little roughed up, and obviously dizzy. Holmes had even thrown-up once as he was dragged from the car. None of this slowed down his resistance.

"It seems, Mr. Holmes that you and your company have made it difficult for me to transport you to Ayyad. I'm afraid he is going to take it out on me, so I am going to take it out on you. Seem fair, don't you think?" Veselý watched carefully for a reaction. None came. He frowned slightly but continued.

Veselý called the names of the soldier that was holding him on the left and on the right and warned them to not let him pull away.

They had tightened their grip on Sherlock and nodded. The soldier in the middle let go of the chokehold that he had on Sherlock's neck.

Veselý motioned with his head for the soldier to come close. He did not look happy and his broken nose was still bleeding even though it had slowed down to a small trickle.

"Get the kit," Veselý said with some regret.

The soldier with the bloody nose started to smile then winced at the discomfort the action caused. "Sir, we are ordered to blind him too…" The soldier reminded Veselý enthusiastically, but was cut off.

"I know what the orders are; I will carry them out to the letter. But understand this, nothing more will be done. Do we understand each other?" Veselý growled in a low voice.

"Yes sir," The soldier backed up slightly somewhat confused by the tone of voice Veselý used as he spoke to him.

Veselý sighed and put a hand on his shoulder, "However every order will be carried out."

Veselý, with his hand still on the soldier shoulders, looked at the two men before speaking.

"You two men were hired for a specific purpose," Both men smiled simultaneously. "Carry it out."

The sounds of struggling were heard anew. "Strip him," He told the men.

"Get the bag of … equipment," Veselý said with authority.

Ayyad ordered all of his top men to keep a bag of equipment for torture close by at all times. Veselý believed that his boss was completely brilliant and slightly mad, but orders were orders.

Sound of struggle, grunting, and clothing being forcibly removed was heard.

The other soldier nodded and walked away quickly.

Someone was hit.

"You'd better bring the Taser," Veselý called loudly to the other soldier over his shoulder.

"Continue even when he passes out, it has to be at least two hours." Veselý looked at his watch.

Veselý frowned and turned away.

Veselý always knew that he would die early. You cannot live the kind of life that he did and expect otherwise, he had concluded. Now however, a small thought bothered him; it was something his mother quoted to him as she hugged and comforted him as a little boy when he heard of a man that was killed by a thief.

"Be sure of this: The wicked will not go unpunished…"

As Veselý listened to the sounds coming from behind him, he hoped that it was not true.

In that moment, for the first time since he was sixteen, Veselý saw himself clearly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** "Be sure of this: The wicked will not go unpunished…" is taken from Proverbs 11:21 NIV version.


	129. Chapter 125

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 125

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

*As always thanks for reading, a** special thanks** to all of you who take the time to review, comment, and favorite.

**Love to all**.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>You must be at the end of your rope. I felt a tug."<strong>_ ~Author Unknown

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day, earlier<strong>_

John sat in his chair and glanced to Sherlock's chair. He read the same page of the newspaper twice. John shook his head. "Don't be a div," John chided himself.

This was the first time Sherlock had gone off on his own without either himself, Lestrade, or Mycroft being beside him since his return from his abduction.

Agent Thomas was following him. If Sherlock knew he did not make a fuss over the fact. Of course Sherlock knew, John admitted to himself, this was Sherlock.

That had been the main reason that John had even agreed. The other reason was that Sherlock's personality could not stand to be smothered for long. Sherlock, for Sherlock, had been incredibly, patient all things considered.

Sherlock had been away for a little over two hours.

Sherlock was more than capable. The truth was, in a fair fight, Sherlock was almost always the one who came out on top.

The problem was that these men did not play fair.

The other issue was that Sherlock was not one hundred percent yet. Although Sherlock had always been a fast healer, and was much better now, he was still stiff and sore. He also still fatigued easily. And, although the nightmares and panic attacks had lessened, they still did occur.

John heard the knob turn and smiled, "Sherlock."

John sighed then stilled as he heard urgent footsteps to the door then a rapid knock.

John's smile disappeared.

He was on his feet in a second. "Come in," John said breathlessly. It was the young officer that had helped Sherlock, what was his name? McMullen, John remembered.

"Doctor Watson, I… need you to… um… come with me now." The kid seemed to be hopping from one foot to another and was unable to keep eye contact for longer than a second at a time.

"What happened?" John heard himself ask. He really did not want to hear the answer.

"Sir, the DI Lestrade sent me to get you, we really need to…" McMullen started.

"**What**… **Happened**?" John used his best authoritative voice. "**Speak quickly,** I need to prepare myself."

John's voice started out strong but ended in a whisper. John felt almost as if he was having an out of body experience. He heard himself speaking but it was almost as if he was hearing someone else's voice.

McMullen stopped fidgeting and his face held a grim but determined expression. He looked at John now with a frown.

"He was kidnapped… tortured… blow to the head, blinded… assaulted, repeatedly. He's pretty bloody. They can't transport him until you get there. He's fighting; he won't let anyone near him. He keeps screaming your name and calling out for you. So, as I said sir, we need to go, now. "

John nodded and felt his legs moving. He scribbled a quick note to Mrs. Hudson, she should have been back by now. He frowned then tore it up and put the pen in his pocket. He needed to know more before he upset her.

They were both running down the stairs a minute later.

John stopped as he opened the door to the outside.

He forgot to take anything. No coat, no gun, no phone. He at least needed the phone.

"Phone," John said numbly.

"I'll get it sir, head to the car." The officer ran taking two stairs at a time.

John nodded gratefully as he stepped down, walked briskly to the car, and opened the back seat door to the car sliding in.

John sat in the back seat. Staring straight ahead but not really seeing.

He vaguely heard a door slam and the pull of gravity on his body as the car quickly turned into traffic. He did not even feel the cold, still his body shook slightly. Maybe, leaving his jacket was a bad idea, but the truth was he could not bring himself to care.

John felt the sweet numbing pull of mild shock.

He resisted.

Although he would have loved nothing better, Sherlock needed him.

John closed his eyes.

Words kept looping through his mind. Bits of conversations with Mycroft, with Sherlock, with the soldier in the warehouse, what the young officer said, and his own fears.

"_Kidnapped… tortured… blow to the head, blinded… assaulted, repeatedly" _

"_John…, technically… Sherlock would be still considered…, alive". _

"_Sherlock was to be made an example of…" _

"_John, I've sacrificed everything for my mind, they were close to breaking it. John, what if they broke it?"_

_"Don't worry; you'll get him back…, eventually…, more or less alive. Alive at least in body, that is."_

"_Kidnapped…"_

"_Tortured…"_

"…_blow__ to the head…" _

"…_blinded__…"_

"…_assaulted__…"_

"…_assaulted__, repeatedly."_

"_Repeatedly…, repeatedly…, repeatedly…, repeatedly…"_

"**Stop it**!" John whispered harshly to himself.

John swallowed bile. He evened out his breathing.

"Don't you dare fall apart John Watson," John whispered again.

This was not helpful to Sherlock. John's military training came back to him. With his eyes still closed, he started to think of something more helpful. Point one; Sherlock was alive. Point two; Sherlock was alive. Point three; Sherlock…, Was…, **Alive**.

They did not know Sherlock, John thought, but he did. Sherlock was a fighter.

John almost smiled at the fact that Sherlock was fighting even now and no one could get close to him, not even to help him.

He **almost** smiled.

There would be physical and emotional scars but he would recover. John was determined, even if that meant he would have to drag Sherlock all the way through his recovery with Sherlock kicking and screaming in protest.

If the blindness occurred because of a hit to the head particularly in the occipital region in the back of the head, it might not be permanent.

It might not be permanent John repeated in his mind. John tried to give himself hope.

His vision may partially or completely return in time. If it did not then they would just adjust.

As far as the assault, he **was**… John corrected his thoughts; he **is** a strong and confident man. Any human would be traumatized. Despite Sherlock's arguments to the contrary, he was human.

Knowing Sherlock, he would pretend that it didn't happen or was irrelevant, he would push it all in and use the logic of his brilliant mind to shield himself against all emotions. He would function well for a little while, then have a nuclear size emotional meltdown.

John knew then and there that he would have to force him to deal with the emotions.

John knew it would hurt.

It would leave a scar.

John was sure that, that had been their intention.

John knew Sherlock; he decided that he would not allow him to retreat to his mind. He would reach him , even if that meant that he would have to go to his mind palace and break down the doors, dragging Sherlock out kicking and screaming.

John swallowed hard.

Screaming, John decided that he did not like the word screaming anymore.

What is another word for screaming John wonder? Ear-piercing sound, high-pitched sound, earsplitting sound, blaring; yes, he would say blaring or blaring sound John decided.

John in the back of his mind knew that his thoughts were getting ridiculous, but allowed it without condemning himself. He knew it was his mind's way of coping.

John did not want to think about Sherlock's beautiful mind being broken. He however decided he had to face the possibility.

If that did happen, had happened, he would not allow Sherlock to be sectioned. He would care for him. Sherlock would recover. If it were a different Sherlock, at least it would be a living one.

John was not surprised that he cared this much for his friend. He had always known. The depth of his care still astonished and moved him. He had never cared this deeply for another soul.

More astounding was the sure knowledge that such an astounding and extraordinary creature as Sherlock would never have given up on him either and have in fact repeatedly risked his life to protect him.

This sure knowledge, although it did not take away any pain, it did settle John.

John wondered how long he had been lost in thought; he knew what he had to do now.

He took a deep breath.

A very determined John Watson quieted his mind.

He opened his eyes.

* * *

><p>AN: Sectioned is commitment to an inpatient Psychiatric hospital.


	130. Chapter 126

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 126

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

* * *

><p><strong>*<strong>**Special thanks to**: **Waterbaby84,****LePetitErick****,****princessangelwings****, ****kyoshizero,**** , ****bergergrey,****Prothoe,****socalrose,****Mitaya,****Esstell,****bbmcowgirl,****AJ Elfhawk,****Sherlock and supernatural mad****, ****LadyRavena,****LogicandWonderland ,**** and ****eohippus****, for your recent post**.*

For all those of you who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Cookies and tea for all!

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you.***

**I want to give Esstell thanks for reviewing Czech grammar for me. Cyber hugs. ** :)

***There are some words written in Czech, the explanation is at the end of the chapter for the because of suspense, thanks. ***

**Tell me your thoughts, Love to all**.

To all who read, thanks.

* * *

><p>""<em><strong>We cannot stop fear but we can fight against it<strong>_." ~ Grace Freeman

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sounds Veselý chose not to process were occurring behind him.

Veselý decided he would be glad when the day was over. He frowned; he wondered what was taking his man so long to retrieve the bag.

Sherlock still had not given up and struggled constantly against the men that were attacking him when the distant sounds of gunshots were heard.

Veselý frowned. He pointed a gun at Sherlock as he barked to the two men. "Leave him! See what's going on, down there now!"

One soldier left right away. The other quickly fixed himself and ran a minute behind.

Sherlock lay motionless for a minute with his eyes closed.

Veselý just looked with a blank expression.

He was surprised when he heard a shaky voice speak. Sherlock spoke with his eyes still closed.

"Would you mind terribly if I got dressed, it is a bit chilly."

Veselý frowned as he nodded then realized that Holmes could not see him so he spoke.

"Of course Mr. Holmes,"

When Veselý answered, his answer surprised both himself and Sherlock.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, then grunted as he slowly got up and dressed himself.

He ignored the slight tremble to his fingers. This both annoyed Sherlock and slowed him down when he tried to button his shirt. He stopped with half his shirt buttoned and stared, the rest of the buttons were missing and scattered on the floor.

More gunshots were heard only this time it was not one or two but a battle was taking place.

Veselý sighed resigned. "Better hurry Mr. Holmes. I think your help has arrived. I'm sure you would not want them to find you in …this state." The statement was not said mockingly, sarcastically, or even full of anger; it was just a statement of fact.

Sherlock blinked as if he had forgotten what he was doing. He started to move again and did not pause or stop again until he was fully dressed.

Holmes was about to put on his coat when Veselý spoke.

"I'm afraid that is enough Mr. Holmes and hands up and away from your body. I think the only thing accomplished today was that we made you angry." Veselý paused for a moment and looked Sherlock in the eyes.

Sherlock's eyes were unreadable.

"I don't trust you. I think you still have plenty of fight left in you. I tried to tell my superiors that they needed to just kill you, not this insane plan of revenge. I think you're a dangerous man Mr. Holmes. I also think that you're **much more** **dangerous** when you're angry." Veselý paused again.

The wails of sirens were heard in the background. Soon the rhythmic flashing of lights broke through the window.

A minute passed in silence.

"I am sorry Mr. Holmes; it was nothing personal…, or even wanted." Veselý was not sure why he was talking so much. Why he still had the urge to speak some more.

More flashing lights were outside now.

Sherlock's face remained blank. He said nothing.

"We are all prisoners of our own fates, are we not Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock, who had been staring at the wall, shifted his eyes now to stare at the soldier.

When Sherlock looked into the soldier's eyes, he saw fear. This surprised him, he knew this made him more dangerous and unpredictable.

He refused to look away now, if the soldier was going to shoot him, he would have to look him in the eyes while he did it.

At Sherlock's intense gaze, Veselý looked away briefly then locked eyes with Sherlock and sighed heavily.

At least part of his plan had gone well.

Veselý had been in this kind of situation many times before. There was a good possibility he could escape during the gunfire his men were carrying out if he ran to the opposite end of the building.

Now.

The soldier weighed his options. He could leave Holmes and have to face the wrath of Ayyad. That was not an option.

He could shoot or injure Holmes in some way and try to drag him along. He would not make it out the building, at least not if he had to drag him alone. Even shot, Holmes would resist.

He could use Holmes as a hostage; of course Veselý knew he would be dead within four hours. Probably death by a sharp shooter's bullet.

He could just shoot Holmes for revenge.

This thought lingered in his mind.

His thoughts then unexpectedly went to his daughter. Veselý now wished that he had acknowledged her, known her in some way. It was too late now.

He vaguely wondered if she would have been proud of the man he had become. Would his mother have been proud?

He had a manic shift in his thoughts again that mirrored the dramatic shift in his mood.

He was angry, very angry. Fascination, regret and hate pulled equally on his emotions.

He hated Holmes for making him think of his mother, for reminding him of his daughter, and worse; for making him wish that he was human again.

The almost overwhelming thought of shooting Holmes for revenge came back to his mind. His finger tightened slightly on the trigger.

Veselý continued to point the gun at Holmes chest, right where the heart would be. That is when he felt it, creeping up from the deepest part of him, making its presence known. He looked in Holmes eyes and spoke.

"Are you not afraid Mr. Holmes, how do you keep going? Does fear paralyze you like it does me at times?" The soldier asked un-expectantly.

Sherlock blinked for a few seconds then stared. He was not surprised by the soldier's question, but he was surprised when he heard himself responding in a quiet voice.

"I used to never fear, anything…, but the past few weeks have changed that. Now, I'm afraid quite often actually. I do try not to show it, stiff upper lip and all. Like now for an example. I'm afraid now. I've simply learned to do what is necessary…, even while afraid." Sherlock was surprised he had answered.

Sherlock had looked into the soldier's eyes and knew instantly what he was about to do. Although he felt it was hopeless, he knew he had to try.

Sherlock added speaking in Czech, "Nemůžeme zastavit strach, ale můžeme bojovat proti němu. Give yourself up."

It was as if they were both each other's confessor. They said then, what they would never say to another soul on earth.

Sherlock looked grim and prepared himself.

Veselý nodded and smiled suddenly fascinated again as he prepared the gun to fire and pulled back the handle, "Varuji vás, tohle není konec. Hodně štěstí, pane Holmesi."

* * *

><p>A single shot pierced the air as Thomas ran up gun drawn. He found Sherlock.<p>

He looked at the body on the floor.

Sherlock was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. By his feet, there lay the body of a middle-aged large blonde man with a vacant stare who had clearly been shot by his own hands.

* * *

><p><strong>Author note:<strong>

_**1.** Nemůžeme __zastavit__strach__, ale můžeme bojovat proti němu_- **means** -We cannot stop the fear but we can fight against it.

_**2.** Varuji vás, tohle není konec. Hodně štěstí, pane __Holmesi__.__.__-_**means**_-_ I warn you, it is not over. Good luck Mr. Holmes.


	131. Chapter 127

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 127

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Lots of Love.

****To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Love you all**.

To all who read, thanks.

**Tell me your thoughts, Love to all**.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>It is interesting to notice how some minds seem almost to create themselves,<strong>_

_**springing up under every disadvantage, and working their solitary but irresistible**_

_**way through a thousand obstacles**_."~Washington Irving

* * *

><p>Sherlock pulled himself away from the wall. Thomas looked him over. Sherlock appeared disheveled and bruised with open wounds on his chin and lower lip. Unfortunately, it was nothing unusual considering the circumstances.<p>

Still, something seemed out of place. Thomas frowned when he came to Holmes shirt. It was partially buttoned. A closer look and he noticed the missing buttons. He looked on the floor and saw buttons scattered.

He had witnessed the younger Holmes with much worse physical wounds smiling dismissively and walking away after telling everyone concerned that they were overreacting.

Usually, the everyone concerned was Doctor Watson and Mycroft Holmes.

Now that Thomas examined Holmes closer, he noticed various little things that disturbed him.

Holmes looked as if he was dressed in a hurry. He was physically shaking slightly.

Mr. Holmes was not the kind of man to be easily shaken.

Thomas mind turned.

Sherlock simultaneously eyed agent Thomas. Thomas had a bruised face and rumpled suit and hair.

Sherlock's eye stopped as it landed on Thomas' bloodied shirt.

He quickly shifted his gaze to Thomas' eyes.

"It's not my blood Mr. Holmes," Thomas reported.

Sherlock's released a breath and his lips became tight as he nodded once.

"Was that concern I saw on your face Mr. Holmes?" Thomas asked with a small smile.

"You imagined it, Thomas," Sherlock said quietly, he offered a brief small smile then looked away.

"Can you walk, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock nodded.

They walked toward the stairs. Sherlock was normally not affected in any way by dead bodies.

They passed Veselý men that were shot. One was a few flights of stairs down, the other two close to the entrance on the first floor. Sherlock made it a point to not look at them as they passed the bodies, Thomas noticed.

Thomas had been assigned to Holmes on and off for years. Something was wrong.

Thomas stopped and looked Sherlock in the eyes.

"Mr. Holmes, I don't know how to ask any other way," Thomas hesitated slightly, "were you… injured in any way that I am not aware of, do I need to know anything? Do you need an ambulance?"

Sherlock was silent for so long that Thomas started to feel uncomfortable. He debated whether or not he should press the point or simply start walking and tell Mycroft Holmes his suspicions.

Sherlock finally spoke. "Let's just say you have impeccable timing and leave it at that."

Thomas just frowned. He hesitated and opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock sensed his hesitancy and interrupted.

"Really, I'm… fine." Sherlock said sounding almost cheerful, as he again for the tenth time that day pushed everything unpleasant down. Ignoring and silencing the screaming voice in his head.

Thomas noticed and frowned at the sudden cheerfulness. Mr. Holmes did not do cheerful. Even if he did, Thomas thought that he was a little too cheerfully for a man who have been through so much.

Sherlock started to walk and Thomas followed slightly behind observing how Sherlock's body moved. His moments were stiff and guarded. Thomas knew that Mr. Holmes was not fine.

Thomas frowned; he discreetly needed to make a call to Mycroft.

As they walked away, Sherlock wondered where his phone was. It shocked him as he realized how much he needed to hear John's voice. He was surprised that someone had not notified John by now.

Someone he did not know and barely paid attention to handed Sherlock his retrieved phone.

He stood and walked a short distance to get some privacy to call John but stopped as a bout of nausea came again along with some dizziness. Sherlock stopped walking and quietly leaned against the building wall with his eyes closed.

Thomas frowned and stayed physically close to Sherlock.

Anyone who even thought of looking Sherlock's way after looking at Thomas changed their mind. Thomas did not bother to press the subject of Holmes going to the hospital. It was pointless and he did not feel it safe sending Holmes away without more backup arriving.

No one but Doctor Watson would be able to change his mind. Thomas folded his arms and glared at the people present. He kept watch over Sherlock while he continued to lean on the wall. He considered it his duty until Doctor Watson arrived.

The ambulances finally arrived. Sherlock would not allow emergency personnel to touch or examine him. He would not even allow treatment of the few cuts and bruises that were visible.

Sherlock did accept bottled water and pain medication from Thomas, to everyone's surprise, but nothing else.

Thomas allowed no one except emergency personnel to come close to Holmes.

Sherlock was tired. Where was John, he wondered as he felt the nausea dissipating.

Forensic were there now. Anderson stopped when he noticed Sherlock.

Thomas saw Anderson walking as he smiled gleefully at Sherlock. Anderson, after noticing Sherlock's distress and appearance smile widen, as he walked over with the thought of tormenting him .

Thomas resisted the almost overwhelming urge to strike the man and looked him in the eyes giving warning in case he thought about saying anything.

Anderson noticed the look on Thomas' face and stopped walking suddenly then quickly looked away. Anderson then walked briskly into the building.

Sherlock opened his eyes in time to observe Anderson's expression.

The thought of Anderson at the crime scene made Sherlock alternate between anger and nausea. A crime scene where he was considered the victim. Second thought, maybe the blow to the head was the cause of the nausea.

Sherlock could not help but notice how his mood was fluctuating severely, he was physically beyond exhausted, he was injured again, and he suspected a very mild concussion.

John would not be happy.

He deduced himself and did not like what he concluded.

His lack of desire to go to the A/E had kept him from sharing his self observations with anyone. He would wait for John.

He thought maybe this once; he would listen to his body warnings and rest for a few days in body, even mind. For the first time in his adult life, Sherlock was looking forward to the dull. At least, for forty-eight hours as long as he rested in** his** flat.

Well, maybe twenty- four hours, he corrected himself.

He would not even yell at John this time when he hovered.

At least he would try not to.

Sherlock felt better now, he looked at Thomas who nodded then started walking gain. He dialed the phone.

John seemed to have some kind of _Sherlock's in trouble radar_. Again, this made Sherlock wonder why he had not called.

He wondered briefly how he would tell John of yet another attempt to kidnap him.

With maybe the exception of his own father, Sherlock did not feel things like hate. He decided long ago that it was a distracting emotion, and purely illogical. And, even with his Father he had to privately admit that it was more anger than hate.

However, he now felt the long forgotten but familiar sensation rise up in him. It was directed at Ayyad.

He was glad he did not have a gun and the man in front of him now. For the first time in his life, he was not sure that he would be able to control himself.

The phone line rang several times, no one answered.

Sherlock abruptly stopped walking. They had reached a few yards outside of the isolated building.

He frowned and tried again.

Several cars were pulling up. Agents stepped outside. Thomas' phone rang. He picked it up and spoke to whoever was on the other line.

Sherlock for the second attempt tried calling the landline in the kitchen in their flat. No answer.

Sherlock's heart rate picked up slightly. Everyone around Sherlock seemed to melt away.

Sherlock tried John's mobile phone again, this time he let it ring until his voice mail picked up.

* * *

><p>Thomas' body stiffened suddenly as he listened to the caller on the other end of his phone line. Thomas' mouth was partially opened as he looked at Holmes. He continued to talk on the phone as he walked slightly away while keeping Holmes in sight.<p>

Sherlock never noticed because he was distracted as he picked up his phone to call Mrs. Hudson.

Again, no answer only a ringing phone.

That was the push that sent Sherlock over the edge. Anger, fear, pain, and rage that he had been pushing down for hours came bubbling up.

His emotions came spilling through without him even recognizing it at first. His perfectly constructed mask of emotional indifference slipped completely off and his normally tightly controlled passionate nature came spilling through.

Sherlock was normally not one for profanity. That is why he wondered who would be ill mannered enough to be cursing in public in such a manner. His mind was fully occupied. He was momentarily so disconnected from his emotions and body, he never noticed that the words were emanating from his own lips out of frustration.

* * *

><p>Thomas frowned as he looked in Holmes direction but said nothing as he continued his whispered conversation.<p>

Sherlock punched in another number. It was for Lestrade's personal mobile. He did not realize that he was holding his breath.


	132. Chapter 128

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 128

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

****To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. **

**Tell me your thoughts, Love to all**.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>No evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love, and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from."<strong>_ **~George Eliot**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day - <strong>_**_Earlier that Day_**

Ayyad had a long plane ride. He would have it no other way. He rode along in a nondescript car. He sighed. He preferred his limousines or Mercedes but he was willing to make sacrifices.

He placed several calls and received several more in return.

He had very few men in London this time. He would not need them. It had also been much more difficult to move his men; Mr. Holmes the elder was as difficult as his brother ever was.

If it was not for the fact that the man was practically untouchable, he would have killed Mycroft Holmes a long time ago.

He wasn't even sure who the man was or what he did. He only knew the "Iceman" or "Ghost" as he was sometimes called was feared in criminal circles.

"Well," Ayyad whispered in the car, "There is more than one way to kill a man."

When he finished with Sherlock Holmes he had no doubt that Mycroft would get the message. The last bomb was in place. He swore to himself that he would watch personally as this one blew up.

He did love a good explosion and fire.

Another call came in. Ayyad picked up the line.

"_Sir Veselý's plan worked. Everything is in place with one exception. He was on his way with Holmes when we lost contact. He is not picking up his phone. Before we lost contact he text the words, plan B."_

"Plan B," Ayyad said without missing a beat. He disconnected the phone. It was clever of Veselý to come up with an alternate plan. He would have his promotion.

That is if he wasn't dead somewhere or captured. Ayyad laughed amused.

It did not matter in the end Veselý had served his purpose.

"Driver, take me there now, I want to see the torture room," Ayyad hummed happily to himself as cars and people passed by outside unaware that a maniac was so close to them.

"Oh and get me his phone."

* * *

><p>AN: Let me know what you think


	133. Chapter 129

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 129

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

****To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Love you all**.

**Tell me your thoughts, Love to all**.

* * *

><p><strong>She sings of a sword so white,<br>**

**so luminous, that its own light  
><strong>

**alone must slay;  
><strong>

**she sings of a sword, a sword, a sword,  
><strong>

**and I creep away. **

~Hilda Doolittle

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>__** Earlier that Day**_

John opened his eyes slightly disoriented.

Where was he?

He frowned; another police officer he did not recognize was in the front seat. John wondered if he was in the front seat the entire time or if they had stopped and he did not notice.

John had to admit that he had been lost in his own misery. He acknowledged that he had not been paying attention to his surroundings.

How long had he been lost in thought, John wondered.

The car continued to move. John squinted as light flashed on his face as metal and glass reflected the sun.

Now that his mind was a little clearer, his mind started to question.

A slight irritation, a small nagging sensation was in the back of John's mind.

As he thought about it, the officer had been very vague. He was never clear on **where** Sherlock was.

"Um… excuse me mate, but where did you say Sherlock Holmes was exactly?"

"Oh… he is waiting for you at the hospital."

They were in a remote area; there was not a hospital in any direction close by that he aware of.

His breathing hitched.

John was sure the officer did not say Sherlock was at a hospital, but in fact was unable to be transported to the hospital because he was fighting off everyone, and calling his name.

John thought he should know, after all he had been rehearsing the officer's words over and over again in his mind like a broken record.

"They can't transport," that was what the officer had said John was sure, "They can't transport until you get there. He's fighting…" those words exactly, John remembered.

His senses tingled. It was a feeling of danger, the same feeling that kept him alive in Afghanistan.

John reached reflectively for his gun. His eyes widened as he remembered that he did not have it.

He really hoped that living with Sherlock had had him paranoid.

John licked his suddenly dry lips.

"Well," John thought darkly to himself, "There was one way to test the _John Watson you are buggered_ theory."

"Sorry, I need to use my phone, I need to make an urgent call, I don't want my landlady to be worried." John waited.

"Um sorry, I must have misplaced it, we're almost there. When we get out the car, I'll look for it." The officer looked straight ahead and never looked back.

John sighed. Theory confirmed, he thought to himself grimly.

Avoiding eye contact, guilt - Eye shifting upward and to the wrong side - creating a lie not remembering a memory. John could almost hear Sherlock's analytical voice in his head.

John had purposely observed his facial expressions as he spoke by looking at him in the rearview mirror.

John swallowed.

Sherlock, where was Sherlock, John wondered desperately.

The other _officer _looked warily at John in the rearview mirror as he was being driven. John put on what he hoped was a believably innocent face and nodded once to him.

John inconspicuously scanned the car for anything that could be used as a weapon. His training as a soldier came back. A thought occurred to John. His hand slowly moved until it was in his pocket. He then wrapped his hand firmly around an object.

His face remained blank as he inched his way toward the door in a way that he hoped was not drawing attention to himself.

They were slowing down.

Maybe, John thought, he could open the car, somehow jump out, and make a run for it. It was risky, but John saw no other option.

His hand almost touched the handle to the car when his body swayed to the left as a sharp and sudden turn was made into an alley.

John tensed his muscles, but his face remained blank.

John took a deep breath to calm and steadied himself.

He saw four men up ahead. He looked grim.

He was not surprised.

* * *

><p>It happened suddenly. The door in the front and back simultaneously opened and rough hands grabbed John. The young officer and the man in the front seat also quickly exited. They quickly spoke then the young officer drove off by himself as another car pulled up instantly.<p>

The men present were speaking another language, John was not good with languages but he believed it to be something Eastern European, but he could not be sure.

As they tried to get him into the car that just drove up, pandemonium broke out.

Hands grabbed, fists flew, then shrieks of pain were heard as one man went down and another was hit in the throat with the base of John's hand.

John ran a few yards before the distinctive clink of a pulled back trigger of a gun was heard.

"Stop now or I'll shoot," was spoken with a thick accent.

John stopped and held his hands partially up.

Seconds later, the wind was knocked out of John as a very angry soldier tackled him unnecessarily. This soldier was holding the side of his bleeding neck where John's pen had stabbed.

John was disoriented for a second then came to himself when rough hands grabbed him for the second time in minutes.

"Where is he," anger filled John despite the gun.

"Don't worry you'll be together soon." The same voice answered.

Pain filled John as he felt a prick. John opened his mouth to protest but his tongue would not cooperate.

John's world narrowed as it faded to gray then black.

* * *

><p>AN: In this case buggered is a not so nice way of saying he was in trouble.


	134. Chapter 130

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 130

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

****To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. **

***Thank you for your responses, keep them coming.**

* * *

><p><strong>On such a night, when Air has loosed<br>**

**Its guardian grasp on blood and brain,**

**Old terrors then of god or ghost**

**Creep from their caves to life again; **

~ Robert Bridges

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day and Time<strong>_

Sherlock sighed with relief as he hung up the phone with Lestrade. He was safe and on his way to him. Mrs. Hudson was found bound and gagged but unharmed. But, John; John was not at the flat or anywhere to be found. It did not take great deductive skills to realize what happened.

Plan B happened.

Sherlock knew Mycroft was safe.

He thought about calling him but thought better of it. Mycroft was no fool. He would be able to tell by his voice that he was thinking of doing something that even by his definition was a bit nutty. Besides, it was obvious that Thomas was speaking to Mycroft.

There were only three people in the world that could see him clearly even when his mask was in place. There was Mycroft, and there was John, and ... Sherlock's thoughts could not get pass John.

He closed his eyes, he had to concentrate. He looked at his phone again and debated with himself. He thought of Mycroft again but his thoughts were interrupted.

John's phone rang.

Instead of giving Sherlock relief, the ringing caused an opposite effect. He answered on the first ring.

"Where is he?" Sherlock said with a deceptively calm voice, there was no point in playing games.

There were a pause and silence. He knew it was a control tactic.

"Mr. Holmes. No hello, no how are you. I've missed you terribly love." Ayyad's voice had a mix of sincerity and mock.

Sherlock's face paled for a moment. He swallowed bile.

He had expected one of Ayyad's men to make the call, not the Criminal Mastermind himself. This made things more serious.

His voice had a negative effect on Sherlock's body. He shook from raw anger with fear mixed in. In his mind, it did not matter. He would not show it, Ayyad would never know about his personal struggles. If John was with that maniac…, Sherlock refused to finish the thought. He was careful to make his voice sound confident.

"Well Mr. Ayyad, I have not missed you. You really are much too obsessed with me for it to be healthy." Sherlock's voice sounded slightly bored, but the truth was his heart was racing and he had to concentrate to keep his breathing level.

He heard Ayyad chuckle on the phone.

Thomas was a distance away, too far to hear his conversation. He looked up from his phone and eyed Holmes suspiciously.

It took all of his strength to smile casually as he turned his back to Thomas and the other people present.

"Let him go. He's quite boring I can assure you. It's me you want anyway. Release him unharmed and I'll turn myself over to you so that you can… do… whatever it is you seem to be determined to do. Of course you could just let us both go, I prefer that option actually."

Ayyad laughed loudly now. "I have missed your spirit." All amusement left his voice, "I look forward to when you whimper before me kissing my feet and beg me for death. I have no doubt that you'll entertain me, you've lasted longer than the rest, but everyone has a breaking point even the great Sherlock Holmes. Have they already started to show you this or is it entirely up to me?" He paused before continuing.

Sherlock said nothing as his body suddenly stiffen. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them determined.

"By the way, since you've deprived me of Novák's services I have hired two more to take his place…, Oh sorry, did you already meet them?"

"Yes…, they're both dead now by the way," Sherlock said coldly.

That took Ayyad by surprise. It was his turn to be silent.

"Veselý?" Ayyad asked.

"Was that his name?" Sherlock responded not in anger this time, but just a factual reply to his question.

"I see," Ayyad sounded annoyed but not surprised. In truth, he did not care about Veselý or anyone else. He had suspected as much. But, to hear the words come out of the Consultant Detective's mouth annoyed him. He considered it a victory for Holmes. Ayyad did not take losing well.

Sherlock said nothing for several seconds then spoke.

"How can I get Doctor Watson released?"

"Keep your mobile close. It's obvious that trying to abduct you is… troublesome. You're very creative in your escapes and you have too many people who are motivated to protect you."

There was a brief pause.

"Did you know that Doctor Watson refused to call you? It's a shame really, if he had cooperated, it could have saved us both trouble and time, don't you think? I would not have had to try to… persuade him." Ayyad stop speaking for a moment to let his words soak in before he continued.

Sherlock's breathing hitched, but he said nothing. He no longer felt fear. He was now just numb and very determine. However, the anger remained. He knew he had to rid himself of it and all emotions and use his mind and logic. He normally divorced himself from emotions but today had proven more difficult. Whatever it took, he would have his John back. He vaguely wondered when Doctor Watson had become his John.

The Criminal Mastermind spoke again.

"This time you come to me. No tricks or I'll disappear with Doctor Watson. Nevertheless, don't worry; I give him back to you. First the fingernails, then the fingers, I've been told that his eyes are lovely, I wanted those for myself but he does have two. I could share and give you one." Ayyad grew silent.

"I'll do what you ask," Sherlock said while staring at nothing in particular.

"By the way, I'll send you a little gift." The line abruptly disconnected.

He blinked rapidly as he slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He held it in his hand. He was reluctant to put it in his coat pocket for some reason.

"Hold on John," Sherlock whispered quietly to himself.

He now heard agent Thomas approaching. He had not noticed at first.


	135. Chapter 131

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 131

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

****To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. **

***Thank you for your responses, keep them coming.**

* * *

><p><strong>She sings of a sword so white,<br>**

**so luminous, that its own light**

**alone must slay;**

**she sings of a sword, a sword, a sword,**

**and I creep away. **

~ Hilda Doolittle

* * *

><p><em><strong>Earlier the Same Day.<strong>_

At first, he heard jumbled noises. Sounds weaved their way in and out of his consciousness. Words and sounds slowly knitted together with voices to form coherent thought.

The second thing John noticed was the flipping of his stomach. He swallowed trying to resist the urge to vomit. He felt as though a thousand pins were pricking his skin. A thousand mosquitoes were a part of some diabolical plan to torment him.

The third thing he notices was disjointed images that slowly pieced themselves together to form complete images as he blinked rapidly to help clear his vision.

He heard a groan.

Oh, he was groaning, **lovely**.

John blinked a few times more as his military training kicked in.

"You see but you don't observe," a familiar sounding voice in his head commented. Doesn't the man ever give him a moment of peace, John wondered.

He looked around and assessed his situation. Drugged. Short acting. Whoever took him wanted him to quickly be alert. If it was short acting, he was at least still in London, somewhere remote.

Well, he was not Sherlock Holmes but in any other situation, he might have been pleased with himself for figuring out that much. John almost smiled.

The thought of a smile quickly left as another wave of nausea ran through his body.

"Awake Doctor Watson?"

John swallowed away the bile before responding.

"Who are you? Why am I here?"

A brief silence followed.

"You know exactly who I am , and I think you know why you are here."

The Criminal Mastermind stood in the background behind his men. He now stepped to the front smiling. But, his smile was not pleasant. It was the smile one would imagine a cat having if a mouse was about to be put in its mouth and chewed slowly.

John blinked away the last of the drug-induced fog and stared at him wordlessly.

He started to smile a ridiculously happy smile.

Ayyad looked confused for a moment, but stared saying nothing at first. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he had to ask, "I have never had anyone in your situation find it a happy event, care to share what is so joyous?"

"You don't have him," John stated as a fact.

"How would you know that we do not have Mr. Holmes?" Ayyad asked still curious.

"I'm alive," John said simply.

This one was different, Ayyad's mind concluded. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Doctor Watson was going to be as much trouble as Holmes. Well, his day was boring so far, just a few murders and personal threats made. He had not even had a really good explosion thank to Holmes meddling; maybe Watson would make things more interesting, He thought.

The criminal walked closer now, looked down and smiling again.

"I have a small request," He ran one finger slowly from John's ear, down his left jaw line to the tip of his lips. He leaned away and glared angrily but did not say a word, "Since we're such good friends."

He kept eye contact with John but stepped back and stopped touching him. His voice took on a friendly tone as if they were friends having a casual conversation.

"My request is simple because I am a simple man. Call Holmes and tell him to meet you at a location that I will tell you. Make up some excuse. Do not allow him to become suspicious. I'm throwing a party and he's the guests of honor. Do this simple thing for me and I'll blindfold you and have my men drop you off in an alley somewhere. There would be no further need for you, Doctor."

"We **will** have Mr. Holmes by the end of today regardless, but if you cooperate, it would be ...**less** **chaotic**."

Ayyad pause to allow Watson to think.

"So, why don't you make that little phone call and tell Sherlock Holmes to come meet you. Or…, I'm afraid you'll have to be my _special_ guess instead." Ayyad came close again and started to walk around his chair, circling like a predator. John recognized this as a maneuver to throw him off balance. All that it was accomplished was making him dizzy. He wanted to tell the criminal to shut up and be still, but thought it unwise and said nothing.

"Not afraid Doctor Watson? We know how to fix that problem. Asked Holmes if you don't believe me. Not talkative today are we? You are Holmes friends, yes?"

Ayyad continued to circle John's chair dramatically.

He stayed quiet, but observed the man, trying to figure out the best course of action.

"Such _good friends _as yourselves must have discussed what we did to him, are you afraid **yet** Doctor?"

"Yes," John said simply as he stared the maniac in the eyes not flinching.

This frank admission both surprised and intrigued Ayyad.

"And yet you will not cooperate?"

"**I'd rather die**; in fact if I get free, I think I'd like to shoot you for what you did to him." John smiled dangerously.

One of Ayyad's general that was close by, slapped John in the face with the back of his gun. This snapped his head back. He saw stars and flashes of light as he was struck. He let out an involuntary grunt from pain. The general then proceeded to put a gun to John's head and painfully ground the tip into his temple.

John bit his lips and grunted again from the pain but did not try to cover his anger.

Ayyad held up one hand and smiled in amusement at the doctor's courage and loyalty. He liked the Doctor, too bad.

"I have a better idea, how about you die **screaming**."

He walked over to him and stared. He then bent low and traced Watson's jaw line that was bruised with his finger as John tried unsuccessfully to lean away. "You're cute. It only seems fair that you receive all of the same treatment that Holmes received…" Ayyad paused, "… of course that includes his _special treatment _as well."

He leaned in toward John's ear and whispered, "Holmes had one _special friend_; I think you should have two." Ayyad smirked and straightened his body then walked backwards a few steps.

"What's the saying? Shared experiences make the bond of friendship stronger. Let's start slowly." He looked up and waved his arms dramatically.

John became quiet but looked Ayyad in the eyes.

Ayyad nodded slightly and the same soldier that had the slapped him with the gun gave him one hard blow to the abdomen. John grunted and winced from the pain but said nothing.

"Feeling more cooperative," He asked amused.

"I would give...you the finger..., but my...hands are tied," John's managed breathlessly as a response. He should have shut up a part of him realized. Sherlock, he thought was having an influence on him. John almost smiled again. Besides, he realized that the lunatic before him, would do what he wanted to do regardless of what he did or did not say.

Ayyad noticed his expression and was surprised at his words. This at first confused him then he smiled amused. He observed his prisoner closely. He then looked his general in the eyes and nodded again.

The soldier gave several more blows to John's abdomen and a few more to his face. Each blow was progressively more violent. Beside grunts of pain and finally a small moan, John said nothing.

He noticed that Doctor Watson would double over while trying to catch his breath. When he did, he simply straightened himself up and resumed grimly staring back .

Watson was interesting, Ayyad thought, he was strong like Holmes. He wondered how long it would take to break him, body and spirit.

Ayyad tilted his head slightly then held up one hand again and smiled.

John tensed his body and prepare for the worse.

Another one of His men approached Watson with a knife and something else in his hand. John watched him wearily.

He was surprised when no blow came.

John saw the knife as it came toward his ear and leaned away.

Surprisingly, again no new pain came.

He instead felt a tug at his hair as a small piece was cut.

Next, the soldier took a picture and the group walked away.

John closed his eyes briefly then sighed momentarily relieved.

John felt some blood run down his right cheek and left temple stinging an eye as the blood mixed with sweat. He also tasted a little blood and spit it on the concrete floor. He knew he had gotten away lucky, for now at least.

"You may yet get out of this alive. Holmes can trade himself for you. We'll let you go then of course."

John thought about how Sherlock was right; for a Criminal Mastermind, Ayyad was a terrible liar.

"I'll be back Doctor Watson, **soon**," Ayyad's voice trailed, some distance away now.

John was left alone with horrible images running through his mind. He knew how Sherlock had suffered. His only consolation was the fact that at least Sherlock was safe with Mycroft.


	136. Chapter 132

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 132

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

****To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. **

***Thank you for your responses, keep them coming.**

* * *

><p><strong>On such a night, when Air has loosed<br>**

**Its guardian grasp on blood and brain,  
><strong>

**Old terrors then of god or ghost  
><strong>

**Creep from their caves to life again; **

~ Robert Bridges

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day and Time<strong>_

Thomas briskly walked up to him as Sherlock stood still. He seemed to be drawn into his mind as it worked furiously to come up with an answer or solution.

In the end, his logic was overridden with something he could not identify.

Sherlock knew instantly that he would do whatever it took to assure John's return. He knew he already had emotional scars he would have to deal with when _the nightmare _was all over, but that would not happen to John. He hoped it was not too late to have him releases without any permanent scar whether they be physical or mental in nature.

He would save John. Sherlock swallowed hard as the realization of what he was planning to do settled deep inside. At that moment, He realized that John was all that mattered.

Two black cars pulled up suddenly.

Sherlock turned around.

Thomas looked at the phone in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock noticed and deposited the phone into his pocket. He then momentarily closed his eyes just allowing himself to breath, gaining strength, and preparing himself.

Thomas had looked into Holmes eyes and called for backup the moment he recognized the familiar expression that told him that his day was about to get much more complicated. Four men exited and came close as two of them walked close by securing the area. He sighed.

Sherlock suddenly opened his eyes and looked at Thomas with a sober expression.

"Mr. Holmes?" He frowned as he observed him.

"Thomas," Sherlock said as he took a step back and extended his arms from his body slightly.

"I am going to need some help… now…, **I need help** **now**!" Thomas said in a loud voice.

Two agents that were close by came close to Holmes. One went behind him.

Sherlock mental cataloged his chances of escape; he was injured, slightly nauseous, sore, in pain and had an unpleasant headache. He was about to attempt to take on two trained government agents plus Thomas while near exhaustion. Most people would think that he was a bit nutty. But that did not matter for one reason.

He thought of John.

He would try not to hurt them.

Sherlock smirked darkly as he mentally calculated how to not seriously injure them.

"**More help you idiots**!" Thomas growled.

Two more agents came running but they were further away.

Sherlock smirk left suddenly. His last thought before pandemonium reigned was that, "Thomas was **not** a complete idiot."

Chaos broke free.

* * *

><p><strong>*Let me know your thoughts.<strong>

***Lots of Love (LoL)**


	137. Chapter 133

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 133

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

****To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. **

***Thank you for your responses, keep them coming.**

If there is anyone out the that is fluent in french can you please check the grammar of the above statement? I wanted to say **conclusion _to_ the problem, conclusion of the problem,** or the** problems conclusion. **Whichever is the most appropriate and correct to end a statement. Thanks.

* * *

><p><strong>I stand amid the roar<strong>

**Of a surf-tormented shore****,  
><strong>

**And I hold within my hand  
><strong>

**Grains of the golden sand—**

**How few! yet how they creep**

**Through my fingers to the deep,  
><strong>

**While I weep—while I weep! **

Edgar Allan Poe, creep

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock and frowned. She stood behind the chair quietly with one hand on his shoulder. He was by all appearance more calm now. She looked around the room. Several agents and Scotland Yarders were in the flat. Lestrade was animated and going from one phone call to another. Donovan came briefly then left after a short talk with DI Lestrade. She was to meet Myers to track down a lead. She gave a concerned glance in Sherlock's direction but said nothing and left.

Mycroft, Anthea, and Thomas were talking in a corner by themselves. Anthea's fingers were flying across her phone screen. Mrs. Hudson wondered if the young woman slept the phone. The voice volume was moderate with loud periods. The teakettle was continuously a boil. Teacups were everywhere.

Everyone had two goals. They were to get John back and keep Sherlock out of harm's way.

Previously, Sherlock looked Mrs. Hudson over, trying to deduce her and make sure that she was really uninjured. When he was convinced that she indeed was uninjured, he withdrew into his mind. He occasionally would _come out_ to gaze straight ahead, then retreat into his mind again. It was obvious to anyone that knew him, that even when he retreated, it did not mean that he was not aware of what was happening. Even though he did not acknowledge it, it in fact was the opposite. He became almost too aware of what was happening. He became in a sense, hypersensitive to information.

He was not only trying to process what happened in a way that was not overwhelming, but also trying to work out how to proceed with the information.

Sherlock continued to sit quietly in the corner. Appearance wise, he looked a _proper mess_. The Consultant Detective was normally meticulous about his appearance. Anyone looking at him now that did not know him, would never have guessed that small fact. He sat in his chair with small amounts of dried blood still on his face and with unruly hair. He had only changed and put on a fresh suit due to a threat from Mycroft, and it was obvious looking at his clothing that he had dressed in a hurry.

He put his coat back on over his suit after dressing, despite the fact that he was indoors. Mycroft, sensing that he had pushed his little brother as far as he could without him totally losing control, demanded nothing additional of him after he changed his suit. No one commented further on his appearance.

It was understood that his full attention was on one subject, Doctor John H. Watson.

Food, medical care, pain, his own personal needs was suddenly disregarded. He drank bottled water but nothing else, not even tea. He considered everything else unimportant at the moment. Sherlock made this perfectly clear to everyone in the room.

Mycroft would glance occasionally at him, as would everyone.

Mrs. Hudson frowned as she returned her gaze to Sherlock. At least, she thought, he no longer had to be physically restrained. It had taken five agents to physically restrain Sherlock and stop him from leaving the site of his abduction. Mycroft had given them instructions to not to hurt his brother. He was sure some of his brother's injuries were aggravated. However, in the elder Holmes mind, a hurt brother was better than a dead one.

Several of Mycroft's agents, thanks to Sherlock, had bruises of their own.

Agent Thomas glanced at the detective several times without slowing down what he was doing. He rubbed his bruised jaw. Still, He held no anger, only a desire to find Doctor Watson and be supportive of Holmes.

Sherlock stared straight ahead at the chair that John would often sit in. His mood had shifted from explosive, to irrational, to irate as he argued with his brother, to now withdrawn and quiet.

Earlier in the day, it started out as a rare sight. Both Holmes brothers rarely showed any emotion, and certainly never in front of other people. However, as the disagreement continued, Sherlock's body became animated and his voice lost its usual slightly bored, intellectual tone.

Mycroft to his credit appeared perfectly calm at first. Those who knew Mycroft however knew that the smile he was exhibiting was his dangerous one. In the end, he raised his voice and ended the second argument with a threat.

Sherlock's plan to try to convince Mycroft to using him as a decoy, did not go over well.

Sherlock insisted that it would work to draw the kidnappers out of hiding. Mycroft had disagreed, and the argument ended when he had threatened to, lock Sherlock in his room and sit outside the door with a key, personally. When Sherlock pointed out that his door did not have a lock, Mycroft with the same dangerous smile said that he could have one installed in less than fifteen minutes if he mentioned the subject again.

Mycroft told Sherlock, in no uncertain terms that he would not risk losing him. Everyone in the room had given both brothers a wide birth while not slowing their activity and Sherlock eventual had grown quiet.

He knew his brother well enough to know that Mycroft had not made an idle threat.

That is how Sherlock came to sit now in a chair, his chair; while facing another chair, John's chair. Not saying a word or acknowledging anything happening around him.

Sherlock who had briefly opened his eyes now closed them.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Hudson, despite her appearance of being delicate, and soft spoken; had another side few people were privy to. She was completely loyal and deceptively strong. Especially when it came to her boys as she called them.<p>

In truth, Mrs. Hudson wanted to have a good cry.

She had snuck off to the bathroom earlier, but she was sure to reapply her makeup and put drops in her eyes. Sherlock needed strength right now. He had been her strength more times than she could mention, and so had John.

Mrs. Hudson knew that Sherlock was very strong, one of the strongest men she knew in all honesty. However, a part of her morbidly wondered, how many times Sherlock could stand at the very edge of sanity, without falling off.

A massive map of London was attached to the wall, with tacks in different locations. Paper and folders sprawled over the kitchen table. Coffee and teacups were scattered around the kitchen as well.

Mycroft had his coat off and was talking to Anthea and Thomas. Lestrade put one hand over the phone while barking off orders to a young detective who ran to a computer to look up information. New information was called in from Donovan and Myers. Lestrade joined the smaller group. They conversed; suddenly Lestrade and Mycroft looked at Sherlock who still had his eyes closed, then they resumed talking. Mrs. Hudson noticed.

Mycroft again glanced at Sherlock.

He had always kept a tight grip, an iron fist around his emotions. He was not foolish enough to believe that he had none, of course. However, he had divorced himself from them, and at a young age had encouraged Sherlock to do the same.

Mycroft believed that they were a liability, a weakness. Emotions were something to be controlled. He noticed with surprise that John's abduction not only affected Sherlock, it had affected him as well. He quickly tried to dismiss it as being perfectly… logical.

John was important to Sherlock; it only stands to reason that therefore John would be necessary to him as well.

Mycroft ignored the fact that that did not explain why he was fighting these same _emotions _along with his brother.

Mrs. Hudson left Sherlock to walk across the room and put her hand on Lestrade's arm, gaining his attention before speaking.

"No word yet Greg?" Mrs. Hudson looked hopefully at Lestrade.

"No Mrs. H. Sorry," Lestrade shook his head slightly and exhaled a breath. "At least not about John."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson said as she glanced back at Sherlock who had his eye still closed and his hands were in the prayer position palms together right under his chin. She then glanced back to Lestrade.

Lestrade nodded discreetly then they both walked over to Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson put one hand on one shoulder; Lestrade put a hand on the other.

Neither said a word.

No words were necessary.

No words could have been enough.


	138. Chapter 134

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 134

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

****To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. **

A/N: conclusion DU problème **means **conclusion of the problem

If there is anyone out the that is fluent in french can you please check the grammar of the above statement? I wanted to say **conclusion _to_ the problem, conclusion of the problem,** or the** problems conclusion. **Whichever is the most appropriate and correct to end a statement. Thanks.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and <strong>_

_**convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."**_~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

* * *

><p>Mycroft ended a call and spoke quietly with Anthea. He then said something to Thomas who left quickly.<p>

He glanced at the table where the pictures of a bleeding John and the bloodied lock of John's hair were. There was a promise to next time send a fingernail with a finger attached.

Both were a gift from Ayyad.

Sherlock had not contained his rage. Mycroft tried to use logic to assure Sherlock calmly that head wounds bleed profusely and always look worse than they actually are.

It had been the wrong thing to say.

No matter how much they argued the brothers never once physically laid a hand on each other. However, at that moment when Mycroft made the comment about head wounds and looked into Sherlock's eyes, he saw wrath in its purest form.

Mycroft was not accustomed to open displays of emotion from Sherlock, particularly in public. He almost subconsciously took a step back.

Almost.

Mycroft Holmes in reality backed up to no one.

The elder Holmes had to admit privately, now that Moriarty was dead; no one concerned him because no one could match him in any way. No one that is except Sherlock, a now angry and irrational Sherlock.

He did not want to think about what his brother went through this last go around that caused Sherlock to be so explosive and highly emotional.

Thomas had talked to Mycroft. His private physician was on the way. Sherlock would be examined and treated whether he agreed or not.

Mycroft paused briefly.

The idea of forcing Sherlock to be examined brought an unfamiliar sensation knocking at the door of his heart. Mycroft did what he always did when all unpleasant and inconvenient things such as emotions tried to enter. He did not answer the knock; he kept that door closed.

His mind took over easily.

It was necessary. Sherlock would be examined and treated and that was that.

His mind turned to Ayyad.

Ayyad being back in England was a mistake. Was the man really that arrogant and that use to getting away with his every whim, that he believed he could come to England twice with the intention of blowing up something British, and tormenting his little brother?

Ayyad wanted to hear Sherlock finally scream.

Mycroft swore to himself that if he ever got Ayyad into his custody, he would be the one to scream.

Repeatedly.

Mycroft was eager to welcome Ayyad to England.

He looked at the picture again.

The message that accompanies the picture was simple. It was to be a simple exchange, Sherlock for John. The next souvenir promised to be an e-mail video with sound, so that Sherlock Holmes could enjoy seeing and hearing Doctor Watson as he was broken by Ayyad, personally.

* * *

><p>Mycroft sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then walked over to Sherlock.<p>

Sherlock, without looking, knew it was Mycroft and said when Mycroft approached, "It's my decision Mycroft."

"**No**!" The room went quiet at Mycroft's angry outburst.

It surprised and annoyed Mycroft that he had raised his voice, again.

No one ever witnessed their boss even in the most critical situations, lose his composure, now twice in less than an hour, Mycroft had raised his voice.

Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade looked at the floor, uncomfortable by the exchange, but unwilling to leave Sherlock's side.

Mycroft lowered his eyes and regulated his breathing, when he opened them again, the "ice man" was back.

"Sherlock I care for John as well, but we both know that they're not complete idiots, they will simply use John against you, Find out if you know about the last intended target, get the location of Mrs. Adler, **yes Sherlock I did figure it out **, and then kill you both. They would probably throw in a little group torture for fun."

Mycroft eyes narrowed before he continued.

"What do you think they would do for a final, Sherlock? Let us see dear brother, as a conclusion DU problème, the both of you could be…say… blown up. But not to worry, that's only after you've both been completely humiliated, broken, and scarred!" He was close to Sherlock and not trying to hide his anger now.

He lowered his voice now and moved even closer so that only his brother and the two standing beside him could hear.

"I don't think you need any more scars Sherlock, do you?"

Sherlock face betrayed both fear and anger. Sherlock rose, he knew it was now or never. He had to risk Mycroft's anger; he had to risk his own.

He rose slowly and got directly in Mycroft's face.

"I have … dealt… with these men, they do not exaggerate. If they say they will send him back to me piece by piece starting with his fingers, they… mean… it!" Sherlock breathing was increasing.

Mycroft folded his arms now and had a grim expression "So… I hand you over so that they can kill you both, it that you're **emotional**, yet secretly brilliant plan."

Mycroft meant the word,_ emotion_ to be an insult.

Sherlock thought for a moment. He knew his brother and how far he could push him. He knew in all likelihood, either he would be locked in his room in the next fifteen minutes or Mycroft would yield.

"Use me. I know you have some kind of tracking system on me, probably my coat. That's how Thomas was able to find me when he took the batteries out of my phone. Use me as a decoy Mycroft. Have one of your best men follow me, discreetly of course, Have him call in the location."

Sherlock continued, encouraged by Mycroft's lack of interruption.

"If something should go wrong, activate the tracking system. It would take longer but at least you would have a general idea of which area I was in. Then do what you do best Mycroft, rescue me." Sherlock said this quiet enough for just Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade to hear.

All eyes were on Mycroft who frowned and thought. In reality, his brother had a point. It was a good plan. If Mycroft were completely honest with himself, if it was anyone other than Sherlock he would have come up with the plan himself, without a shred of guilt and remorse.

Mycroft now fought his logical mind to understand why he was unable to admit that this was indeed the best, although admittedly risky, chance of resolving the dilemma. He decided that he did not care how illogical it was, he would not risk his little brother.

Mycroft became like steel.

"This discussion is over, Sherlock." Mycroft smiled dangerously. "By the way, it's in your shoes not coat."

"**No Mycroft,** the discussion is…** not** over…, do you… intend… to… just… l… l… lock…," Sherlock was breathing too fast, still angry.

Mycroft eyed Sherlock suspiciously then his ice melted and he cleared his throat.

Lestrade put one hand under Sherlock's arm quickly.

"B...Bedroom," Sherlock whispered, while looking at Lestrade and while blinking rapidly.

Lestrade smiled supportively, and escorted Sherlock to his room.

Mrs. Hudson watched him leave with a curious look on her face.

Lestrade came back, "He's asking for you Mrs. H."

"Poor dear," Mrs. Hudson said, "I'd better get his sedative, it's in Johns ro…" Mrs. Hudson allowed one tear to fall. She wiped it away quickly then put on a brave smile walking quickly toward John's room.

Mycroft tilted his head and looked at Mrs. Hudson's retreating form. He then looked at Sherlock's door. He then looked at Lestrade who had joined the other group and was on his phone again.

"Hum," Mycroft said to himself.

Mrs. Hudson came out quickly with a bag going into Sherlock's room now.

Both she and Sherlock emerged ten minutes later. Sherlock was breathing more normally, but was looking down, refusing to look at anyone. He seemed to have deflated, all anger gone.

"I'm taking him downstairs, he needs to get out of this place for a minute; I'll have him lay down for a bit. The pills usual work fast." Mrs. Hudson explained to Mycroft quietly.

"Need help Mrs. H.?" Lestrade pulled the phone from his ear and cover it with one hand.

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock then replied.

"No dear, everything is sorted." She then proceeded to slowly help Sherlock down the stair; his arms were on the shoulders of the smaller woman.

Mycroft frowned then opened his mouth to say something. He never got a chance he was interrupted.

"Mr. Holmes we may have something sir." Anthea called while waving her phone.

Mycroft walked away hurriedly.

* * *

><p>AN: I tried to get extra chapters up before the work/school week started. I know everyone is use to an update almost every 24 hours, but I _**may **_not be able to update per regular, sorry. However, I will as soon as possible.

****Please comment and review, whenever I am tired I read some comments and it motivates me to push a little harder. Stay safe. ****

Lots of Love to all.


	139. Chapter 135

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 135

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. **

****I was tired and dragging this week. (Yes, I know the week has just started) Your responses were like a cup of coffee to my sleepy soul. Thank you for your comments and please keep them coming.**

*****If you're interested, **eohippus showed me this link to a website that contains an interview with Stephen Moffat. He talks about Sherlock´s character. You can do a **copy and paste**. The site is **www./2012/05/03/sherlock-season-2-steven-moffat_n_** (make sure there are no spaces). It seems to work if you put it in a search engine like Yahoo or Google as examples, better than the address bar. Works with most worldwide search engines. Pick the first one that pops up. Does not work with BBC player's website.

**Thanks ****eohippus**** !**

**Love and Coffee, Zacha**

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong>_**Like a pigeon caught in a revolving door, flutter, flutter until he flutters no more."**_ ~ A. C. Freeman

* * *

><p>Ayyad looked in the specially prepared room. He walked around with his hands in his suit pocket.<p>

"Good," he said to the soldier. His hands tenderly touched the various small devices, hammers, pliers, and instruments. Portable shock devices were also present.

He then glanced at the other side of the gloomy room that had syringes filled with dark amber colored substances. The drug had been perfected since last time. Despite his _guest's_ bodies being paralyzed, he would be able to hear their screams now.

The thought of them screaming caused a shudder of pleasure to run through his body. Ayyad took a moment to enjoy it. He sighed and groaned softly. He really did not care who heard.

He smiled as he looked at the table. It was oddly shaped metal with two levels and thick leather ankle and wrist restraints. It had a face-sized hole in the top level. The table allowed a prisoner to be restrained face down while kneeling.

"I still remember how to break you, Mr. Holmes; let's see if your little friend is as strong as you. I'm sure you'll be joining him soon." Ayyad chuckled and looked around further.

This was not as good as the one back at his estate, but it would have to do. He would have enough entertainment.

His mind wandered; what would hurt Holmes more, being tortured, or watching his friend being tortured. He thought he knew the answer. Holmes was willing to do what no one seemed to be able to do. The detective would surrender himself to be tortured to save Doctor Watson.

Veselý's plan was genius. He had observed how the Consultant Detective seemed to care for the Doctor, and the Doctor for the Consultant Detective. He had used their caring to manipulate them both.

Too bad Veselý was dead, Ayyad chuckled.

He smoothed down his red tie with one hand, a good color for torture, it hide blood stains well, he thought. Although, he probably should not have worn a white shirt. Ayyad sighed as he thought about the sacrifices that he was willing to make.

He was usually just an observer and directed his men. With this pair, he would conduct it personally. He would look into Holmes eyes and witness the moment Holmes was broken, and then, finally, he would hear him scream.

Ayyad smiled contently.

If Holmes would not scream for his own pain, he would scream for Doctor Watson's pain. The conversation on the phone convinced him that Holmes would break for the Doctor. Of course, he would not let Watson go.

That is why he chose not to care for anyone, caring made one weak, he thought. Ayyad looked around carefully, he observed everything in the room.

His mind thought about his past entertainments. He smiled as he considered how he would begin the session. He became still suddenly.

Ayyad's smile left. He looked around again and frowned.

"Where is the Taser?" Ayyad asked annoyed.

"Sir?" The soldier asked somewhat afraid.

"The Taser, where is it? It is suppose to be on this table with the other electrical devices."

The soldier swallowed before replying quickly. "I am not sure sir? Maybe, it was not unpacked."

"I see," Ayyad said evenly.

"And,** where…** is the **video camera**? You know that I like to video tape my _special_ entertainment," Ayyad raised both eyebrows and stared at the soldier now.

"It may have also not been unpacked Sir," The soldier said with a grim expression.

"I see," Ayyad said again.

Ayyad walked up to the soldier until their faces was almost touching. The soldier stood at attention but said nothing and did not dare to move.

"Get them for me now, I need you to find them, quickly," Ayyad said with a deceptive calm. "If you take too long I may need to test them out on **someone**. Maybe even test out some of the other… devices." Ayyad looked at the soldier with a blank expression.

"Yes Sir!" The soldier practically ran from the room. He was highly motivated.

"Idiot," Ayyad said. He was not concerned with who heard.

There was a moment of silence. Everyone in the room waited. They knew by now how unpredictable their boss could be when annoyed. One prepared himself to hand his boss a gun just in case he wanted to shoot someone.

He suddenly looked at them while rubbing his hands together.

"Well," he said loudly, "let's eat."

Everyone took a relieved breath.


	140. Chapter 136

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 136

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. **

****I was tired and dragging this week. (Yes, I know the week has just started) Your responses were like a cup of coffee to my sleepy soul. Thank you for your comments and please keep them coming.**

*****If you're interested, **eohippus showed me this link to a website that contains an interview with Stephen Moffat. He talks about Sherlock´s character. You can do a **copy and paste**. The site is **www./2012/05/03/sherlock-season-2-steven-moffat_n_** (make sure there are no spaces). It seems to work if you put it in a search engine like Yahoo or Google as examples, better than the address bar. Works with most worldwide search engines. Pick the first one that pops up. Does not work with BBC player's website.

**Thanks ****eohippus**** !**

**Love and Coffee, Zacha**

***Request alert***

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."<strong>_ ~ Lao Tzu

* * *

><p>Mrs. Hudson passed the guess bedroom and helped him to the kitchen. Sherlock slowly sat down looking quite pitiful.<p>

Mrs. Hudson sighed then asked.

"What are you up to you sod."

Sherlock slowly raised his eyes looking at her.

Mrs. Hudson sat down and frowned.

"Are you sure about this Sherlock, You can't fool me love, you're hurting. You look a proper mess; you still have dried blood on your face. You've thrown up once. Your brother had to threaten you before you would even change your set of clothes."

Mrs. Hudson bit her lower lip and looked him in the eyes before gently continuing.

You've not fully recovered, you just had what looks like a panic attack, and these are not nice men. Your heart is in the right place Sherlock, but physically…" she searched his eyes.

There was a brief moment of a silence.

"This is John," Sherlock said simply allowing her to search him his eyes.

Mrs. Hudson sighed.

She abruptly got up and walked over to the kitchen sink. She made a kitchen towel damp and returned then sat down. She concentrated as she gently wiped off his face and scalp while taking extra care with the bruised, cut, and scratched areas. She then combed his tangled curls with her wet fingers. She examined him when she was through.

"There… better," she announced.

Sherlock said nothing but allowed her to do what he knew she needed to do.

Mrs. Hudson sighed again softly as she said, "Well then."

There were a few second of silence before her eyes widened unexpectedly.

"Oh… I forgot to give you your sedative dear." Mrs. Hudson leaned under the kitchen table. At the confused look on Sherlock's face, Mrs. Hudson added.

"You'll be needing this," Mrs. Hudson pulled out John's gun and bullets.

Sherlock chuckled softly, "Mrs. Hudson."

"You've better hurry, that brother of yours is clever, you probably only have an hour before he gets suspicious."

"Thirty minutes, actually." He handed a note to Mrs. Hudson.

"You already had it written out?"

"I know my brother."

"See that Mycroft gets this in half an hour. Half an hour exactly," Sherlock stressed.

"Sherlock, I'm cooking both of your favorites for supper, don't be late."

He turned to leave out the window. Mrs. Hudson caught his coat sleeve. She then got up and pulled him into a hug.

Sherlock body was stiff at first. He held his arms up partially surprised by her actions. However, after a few seconds he relaxed. He then melted into the hug and put his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head as he closed his eyes.

He told himself it was perfectly logical and for the benefit of Mrs. Hudson. He almost believed himself. She pulled the much taller man down and kissed him on the forehead.

After a minute, she gently tapped him on the cheeks and said, "Well, off with you."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at her curiously, as he nodded once. He was halfway out the window as he turned back and looked again. He nodded once more and he was gone.

Mrs. Hudson smile dropped.

In the back of Mrs. Hudson mind, she noted that Sherlock never looked back before.

She said a quick prayer and started to cook.

* * *

><p>Mycroft finished the call. This was good news; he also realized that everything was moving too slow.<p>

In all likelihood, they would not get there in time. He morosely wondered how his brother would take to the news of Doctor John Watson's death, or worse, Doctor Watson disappearing with the animal Ayyad.

Mycroft refused to call him a man.

If that happened, he would help Sherlock hunt the animal down, get John back, and personally put a bullet between his eyes.

He dry wiped his face in frustration and closed his eye to enter his mind in a similar method as his brother. His body suddenly stilled.

A thought came to his mind, one word, "Sherlock."

Mycroft eyes suddenly opened and he frowned.

Anthea noticed the frown but continued to work.

Mycroft eyed the stairs then made his way down to Mrs. Hudson's apartment. He did not bother to knock.

He looked in the guest bedroom, and noted that it was empty.

"Hello," He said quietly as he followed his nose to the small kitchen, smelling the beginnings of a meal. He also heard soft sounds.

A bit early to start cooking he thought.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw only Mrs. Hudson, humming away.

"Hello Mycroft dear, have a cuppa?"

It took less than a second to deduce what had happened.

"Where is he?" Mycroft said in a dangerously low voice as he advanced on Mrs. Hudson, towering over her.

"Oh that, well he left you a note. I can give it to you in..." she looked at her watch, "...fifteen minutes."

Mycroft smiled dangerously and spoke in a deceptively calm voice.

"You know I've never actually hit a woman, I usually have men that do that for me." Mycroft warned.

"Oh you wouldn't dare. Sherlock and John would take turns kicking your arse; besides dear, you don't fool me, you like me." Mrs. Hudson smiled just as dangerously.

Mycroft growled then sank into the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginning of a headache.

Mrs. Hudson smiled, and then looked at her watch as she put a hand on Mycroft's arm. "Oh, don't worry dear, you only have fourteen minutes left now."

* * *

><p>AN Update as soon a possible.


	141. Chapter 137

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 137

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

***Special thanks to**: **princessangelwings,****LogicandWonderland**** ,**** eohippus****, ****christistina, Prothoe,****Mitaya,****madscientistsuz, socalrose****, ****briongloid fiodoir, Queen morgan la fay, hjohn302 , Esstell, Burning Phoenix, LePetitErick****, ****bergergrey****, ****SWBloodwolf****, ****Cainchan****, ****bergergrey,****Esstell****, ****Waterbaby84****, ****AJ Elfhawk,****kyoshizero, Sherlock and supernatural mad****, ****Ju Lara****, ****LadyRavena, Dizzy Crue**** and ****Voldemort101****, for your recent post**.*

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N:Do not think that I am nutty but I completely rewrote these chapters. I did not like the flow when I considered the changes made to the prior chapters. Hope it flowed well, tell me what you think.**

**Love and lots of Coffee, Zacha**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Our greatest problems in life come not so much from the situations we confront<strong>_

_**as from our **__**doubts about our ability to handle them."**_ ~ Susan Taylor

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Mycroft read Sherlock's note and stilled. With a grim expression, He made a call.

"Red flag alert protocol 999, I repeat this is not a drill, red flag alert protocol 999."

He hung up the phone. He then looked Anthea in the eyes. She had stopped texting and stared at him in disbelief. He looked her in the eyes and simply said "Yes." She nodded and with a look of determination started to text again. Her fingers were moving even faster.

As he was about to rush out the door, a call came to Mycroft's phone. "Holmes," He answered with a rare show of irritation. Mycroft's face paled briefly before his expressionless mask took over. "Yes, I see. I'll be there promptly." Mycroft face was unreadable.

Again, Anthea looked at her boss. "No need to look at the three possible locations that we were given. I know where it is."

"Clear the area," Mycroft instructed the agents present, even though in his mind he knew it would do little good.

At that moment, He was not ice, he was not fire; he simply was.

"Lestrade, if you would," Mycroft called him over and took him in a corner so that only the two could hear. "Ayyad, it seems have left me a personal gift, I need you to get my brother out of trouble for me. My men will of course follow your direction." Mycroft handed him Sherlock's written instructions.

Mycroft hesitated, "I know you care for him, I trust no one else but John in these matters and it would seem that John is indisposed at the moment. And while you're at it, please get John back safely as well." Mycroft looked at his umbrella before, now he looked at Lestrade.

Lestrade frowned; "Anything else I need to know," Lestrade was concerned.

"Do you know what protocol 999 is?"

"You can't be bloody serious." Lestrade's gasped. "A dirty bomb?"

"Yes. Apparently I have a date; I shan't be late or it might turn into an explosive situation." Mycroft had a grim expression.

Lestrade nodded with an equally grim expression and turned to leave, but his arm was grabbed by Mycroft.

"Sherlock…" He searched for the words but found none.

"I know…" Lestrade attempted at a smile.

Mycroft nodded letting go.

Lestrade with a vocal command was out the door with agents and officers running.

Mycroft and Anthea followed close behind with several officers following as well.


	142. Chapter 138

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 138

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N:Do not think that I am nutty but I completely rewrote these chapters. I did not like the flow when I considered the changes made to the prior chapters. Hope it flowed well, tell me what you think.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>I had as many doubts as anyone else. Standing on the starting line, we're all<strong>_

_**cowards."~ **_Alberto Salazar

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

The text was sent to Lestrade with the message to pass it on to Mycroft. The location that Holmes was requested to go too had been texted to his phone twenty minutes ago. Sherlock Holmes had no intentions of being late. He had taken a taxi and exited a mile away. He had walked quickly then ran the last block to insure that he made it there exactly five minutes early. He glanced at his watch as he caught his breath trying to ignore the pain in his side.

He blinked a few times to clear his eyes and focus. His mind scanned rapidly so that he could position himself at the point in the alleyway to give him his best advantage. He observed the space. Remote, multiple access and close to the highway, in a part of town that witnesses might be more inclined to ignore activities that are criminal in nature. Good place for an abduction, he thought.

He glanced at his watch again and positioned himself one third of the way in the alley. He was careful to avoid standing under any fire escapes, or anywhere where there could be movement that could go unnoticed if he was concentrating on not getting beaten.

After a short wait, five men approached. Sherlock watched warily as he positioned his body a quarter yard from the wall.

"Mr. Holmes," one of the soldiers said with a thick Czech inflection. He then dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it.

Sherlock said nothing but let his eyes travel from one soldier to another.

Sherlock looked in the face of the soldier who was speaking. He deduced him. He asked a question that he already knew the answer to.

"I will go willingly with you but first answer this question. How and when will Doctor Watson be released after I become your… guest."

The man that spoke before smiled and spoke to his comrades in Czech. He then spoke in English.

"He'll be released near your home as soon as you arrive, don't worry we'll take care of him," with that he nodded.

Sherlock nodded stiffly once.

The four men cautiously advanced on Holmes.

The commanding soldier looked the detective up and down taking in his appearance and noticing his bruised face. When he observed Sherlock Holmes, he did not see the great man that everyone seemed to be afraid of; he saw a man that looked beaten down emotionally and not much better physically.

Sherlock rapidly blinked a few times and swallowed. The soldiers wondered if the detective was going to vomit and stopped advancing, not wishing to be close if that should happen. Sherlock put one hand on the wall and slid down until he was in a partially kneeling position, with one leg bent with the feet flat on the ground. The other leg was touching the ground along with one hand. His head was lowered toward the ground. He swayed even in the partially kneeling position.

The leader cursed and then communicated in Czech. The men laughed as he spoke. "Even the old woman was tougher. When I slapped her despite her tears, she looked like she wanted to slap me back. It's too bad that Veselý forbid us to killing her."

The man laughed more.

"What do we do?" One of the men asked. They were speaking English again.

There was a brief pause.

"Bring the car around as close as you can. We'll have to pick him up and carry him, don't want to attract attention."

One of the soldiers ran away to complete the task.

The leader looked Sherlock up and down. He was now breathing fast, a small moan escaped.

"You better hurry, pretty boy looks like he's about to pass out."

The soldiers relaxed as they laughed some more.

Sherlock's eyes were closed.

Two of the men came close to lift Sherlock up.

He put his gun away to help lift.

"On three. One… Two…"

"Three," A deep baritone voice answered.

They froze for only a second.


	143. Chapter 139

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 139

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N:Do not think that I am nutty but I completely rewrote these chapters. I did not like the flow when I considered the changes made to the prior chapters. Hope it flowed well, tell me what you think.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The<strong>__** ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and **_

_**convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."**_

~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

They stood in front of the building it was a landmark. Police were stationed outside with some agents already on the scene. Anthea was on her phone texting. Her fingers flew gracefully across the keys.

"How many children?" Mycroft asked.

There was a two-second delay and then Anthea answered. "Forty-two, Sir."

"I see," Mycroft said gravely.

She looked up from her phone ad studied her boss's face. "Sir, you're not seriously thinking of complying with his demands?" She frowned because she knew him well enough to already know the answer.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and produced a toothless smile.

"Best if you stay here," Mycroft rocked on his heels. "If anything should happen to me give this umbrella to Sherlock." His mask broke a little at the mention of Sherlock's name. He handed the umbrella to Anthea. He hoped that his simple request if the worse should happen would be able to be carried out.

"I'll be off, evacuate the immediate area and get youself a safe distance away." Mycroft proceeded to turn so that he could walk away.

Anthea's hand was on his arm. They rarely touched.

"Sir, I think I'll come with you." Mycroft looked at Anthea. She had never done anything but follow orders. It was amusing for Mycroft to see her so determined.

"This may not end well, Kitty." Katithra was so use to being called Anthea she almost did not know her own name. No one but Mycroft knew her as anyone other than Anthea, not even the other agents. Even Mycroft rarely called her anything other than Anthea.

"Well then Sir, we've better get on with it." Anthea ran to an agent and gave him the umbrella and instructions. It always amazed Mycroft how quick she was in high heels. Mycroft mused about how women have their own set of talents.

Anthea was back at his side in a moment. She gave him another umbrella. "I thought you could use this one temporarily, Sir."

Mycroft smiled then nodded.

Anthea then raised her skirt and put a tiny gun in her thigh holster. Mycroft raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Other agents looked curiously.

"Yes," Mycroft thought, "Definitely a different and unique set of talents."

"Ready Sir?"

"Yes," They walked toward the building.


	144. Chapter 140

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 140

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N:Do not think that I am nutty but I completely rewrote these chapters. I did not like the flow when I considered the changes made to the prior chapters. Hope it flowed well, tell me what you think.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing<strong>_

_**to attempt."**_ ~ Shakespeare

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Fist flew and grunts of pain were heard. A popping sound was heard followed by the sound of a bullet striking flesh. One gun slid across the ground and slammed into the wall. One soldier howled in pain. He grabbed his leg as he rolled on the ground. As two soldiers punched at his face simultaneously, Sherlock managed to duck one but his stiff body slowed his normally lighten fast reflexes, and the other soldier's fist grazed the side of his chin.

This knocked him back into one soldier that was getting off the ground. They both tumbled toward the earth as he fell on top of the soldier. A sicken crack was heard. The soldier underneath him did not move because he was unconscious. Sherlock gun was _retched_ out of his hand by the impact of the fall. Two soldiers were left.

The leader and the other young soldier were both cautious and approached slowly, step-by-step. The younger one tried to slip behind Sherlock. Sherlock, sensing what they were doing positioned his body so that he could turn quickly. His hands were slightly extended away from his body.

Several of Ayyad's men drove up in a car a street away and was about to exit the car. There was no direct access to the alley from their end of the road. They were however, close to the highway which was the plan. They walked quickly but one soldier was ahead.

"Gentlemen, can we calmly discuss this?" Sherlock smiled falsely with hands extended more now.

The younger soldier stopped advancing and looked at the leader with questioning eyes.

The leader rolled his eye and said through gritted teeth. "Don't listen to him you… you…"

Before he could finish, Sherlock made use of the distraction, twisted and connected the outside of his elbow, with the young soldier face. He fell backwards to the concrete. Sherlock saw the fist out of the corner of his eye. His slowed reflexes were not able to get completed away from it.

Sherlock stumbled back a few steps as the leader who was the only remaining solder standing advance on Him while swinging. He ducked the next swing. Sherlock punched the back of leader then kicked his leg out. The resulting thud was heard as Sherlock scrambled for the fallen gun.

The leader moaned, shook his head to clear the fog, and then attempted to get up.

"Ah...Ah," Sherlock said as he pointed the gun at him while his eyes warily skipped from soldier to soldier.

"By the way, I believe the word that you were searching for in your rather limited vocabulary is, Moron."

Sherlock considered his situation quickly. It was precarious at best.

The first soldier was unconscious, the second was moaning and rolling from pain, the third one was beginning to moan and rolled his head back and forth, but his eyes were still closed. The fourth, which was the leader, was stunned but alert.

Sherlock frowned. "Over there next to the others," he said to the leader.

The leader scowled and did not move as he considered his options.

A popping sound was heard as Sherlock quickly lowered his hand from the sky to point at the leader again. His voice became dangerous and low.

"The next bullet will have a target, get over there and sit slowly, on your hands. Now!" Sherlock looked him in the eyes.

This action surprised the man. The leader slowly moved and sat on his hands. Sherlock kept one hand on the gun as he blindly searched his pocket for his phone. He prepared to call Mycroft. His hand was wrapped around his phone when he observed it.

It was just the slightest shifting in the eye of the leader, an almost inconspicuous twitch at the left corner of his mouth. Sherlock eyes widened, as he instantly knew he would not be able to react in time.

Sherlock had momentarily moved away from the wall to be in a better position to observe all the soldiers. His back was to the east end of the alleyway.

What Sherlock sensed but did not see was an angry looking soldier that was behind him. He was the first of three that were coming. The soldier tightened his finger on the raised gun. The gun was aimed at Sherlock's thigh.

There was no time for him to react.


	145. Chapter 141

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 141

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N:Do not think that I am nutty but I completely rewrote these chapters. I did not like the flow when I considered the changes made to the prior chapters. Hope it flowed well, tell me what you think.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing<strong>_

_**to attempt."**_ ~ Shakespeare

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Multiple popping sounds were heard. Sherlock's body flinched at the sounds. He waited but no pain came. He smiled.

A short-lived battle was taking place behind him. It was over in a matter of minutes. Sherlock kept his eyes on the soldiers. Suddenly all was quiet.

"Thomas," The Consultant Detective said without looking back.

He heard two footsteps running toward him. One ran pass to the suspects. The other ran up to him. "You're late," Sherlock informed Thomas with a slight smile.

"Your signal gave me the general area, but I **did** **have to search** for you Mr. Holmes." After looking him over briefly, "You knew I would follow you?" Agent Thomas asked as he allowed the other agent to secure the suspects with plastic handcuffs and call for backup.

Sherlock glanced behind him at the obviously dead soliders. He then lowered his gun and secured it, but not before giving Thomas the; _do not be an idiot_ look.

"Alright," Thomas said with hands half raised.

"The only thing I'm still trying to work out Thomas is; did you know that I was going to… shall we say exit quietly or was Mycroft aware of what I planned earlier than I thought and warn you?"

Now it was Thomas turn to give Holmes _the look. _"How many years have I known you Mr. Holmes?"

"Point taken," Was all that was said in reply.

"What now, Mr. Holmes, We'll take them in for questioning. However, that will take time."

Sherlock looked back at the leader. "Sorry don't have time for that. I'll have a little chat with him."

"Mr. Holmes," Thomas started to say but Sherlock ignored him and walked away. Thomas frowned, sighed, and then picked the mobile and asked how close was the ambulances.

Thomas told the other agent to not interfere. He then stood cross-armed close by.

Sherlock walked up to the leader.

"I need you to tell me where you were instructed to take me. I need to know how many soldiers were and are still there and I need you to tell me the next time that you are expected to check in… " Sherlock studied his face carefully. The leader said nothing.

"The bomb that is to explode today, what kind of a bomb is it exactly?" Sherlock noticed the look of surprise followed by the slightest of facial twitching. "Ah, I see. Thank you," he told the leader who had a confused look on his face.

"Now back to the original question. Where is Doctor Watson?" Sherlock took back out John's gun pointing it to the ground. The leader said nothing but looked from Holmes, to Agent Thomas, to the other agent who looked just as confused, back to Holmes. His mouth was partially open.

These were the police. The police is not allowed to just shoot someone. Most of the police don't even carry guns in England. He's just bluffing the leader decided. As the leader's fear left, he glared back.

Sherlock now pointed the gun at the man. "I won't ask again. You have until three." His voice became incredible low.

The leader looked at the Agent's face. Thomas looked grim but said nothing with his arms still folded.

"One…"

The leader stared at Holmes he had a blank expression.

"Two…"

A gunshot was heard followed by a howl of pain as the man grabbed his leg. Tears were rolling down his eyes as he shouted, "You didn't get to three… You didn't get to three!" He held his leg.

"I'm injured, sorry my hands **slipped.** Now, you were about to tell me where Doctor Watson is. Remember, I am in a hurry." Sherlock's face was unreadable.

The leader looked at him warily as he still held his leg.

Sherlock sighed, "Your right, I didn't get to three. I'll try again." He pointed the gun at the other leg. "You do realize that I'll run out of extremities soon." Sherlock counted again.

"One…"

"WAIT… **WAIT**… Alright… I'll tell you just, **STOP SHOOTING ME!**" The soldier shouted as he held up his hands.

"Speak quickly and no tricks, I may get angry." Sherlock informed.

The soldier spoke quickly, and told everything he knew. Sherlock turned to leave but first bent down and _accidentally_ pressed on the soldier's wounded leg. The man grunted from the pain.

"By the way, that woman you hit, I happen to like her, consider yourself lucky that I am in a hurry. Oh, am I leaning on your leg. That **must** hurt soooo… sorry." Sherlock patted the soldier on the cheek before getting up and walking away.

The wail of sirens was heard close by.

Thomas quickly spoke to the other agent then went around and jogged to catch up to Mr. Holmes.

"Mr. Holmes you need to wait for backup."

"I've already wasted enough time." Sherlock did not slow his steps down but looked at his watch.

"Mr. Holmes…" Thomas said as he ran in front of him and blocked his way. "Wait."

"Thomas, John does not have time; and Ayyad has the codes on his person to stop the bomb. Make a decision Thomas, I am going around you or over you, it's your choice. Although, I'm willing to admit that I could use the help but I will not risk John." Sherlock said nothing more.

Thomas sighed and got out of his way but followed. "Well, we'd best be off, as you said there is not much time."

Sherlock nodded relieved. They started walking then jogging. As they jogged to the car, a question pressed on Thomas' mind.

"The silence is deafening, Thomas." Sherlock continued to jog but did not look at Thomas.

"Why did you sneak away then not go with them." Thomas wondered.

"They were not going to release Doctor Watson." Sherlock did not slow his pace.

"If they were going to release him," Thomas hesitated slightly, "Would you have gone with them?"

"Yes," Sherlock said simply. Thomas stopped asking questions.

They approached the car and quickly got in and drove off.


	146. Chapter 142

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 142

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Again, thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N: I completely rewrote these chapters as well as the others, _again_. I hope you enjoy. Tell me what you think.**

**Love and Lots of Tea, Zacha**

* * *

><p><em><strong>There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it<strong>_." – Buddha

* * *

><p>They had parked a distance away from the building. There were no cars on this side of the large brick building. The overgrown weeds and the empty lorry bin indicated that the isolated building was abandoned and have been for some time.<p>

"This may be trickery than anticipated Mr. Holmes." Sherlock said nothing but was quietly eyeing the building. Now that Agent Thomas thought of it, Holmes, with the exception of asking how long it would take to arrive, had said nothing for the last thirty-nine minutes it took for them to arrive there.

"There isn't a lot of cover to conceal our approach. We don't have the proper backup. Eight of his men are dead or in custody, still, we don't know if he lied about most of the men leaving for the bombsite. Going in there would be proper madness Mr. Holmes. In addition, you're injured and tired. Back up should be arriving; when it does** we** can go in while **you **wait for us out here."

Sherlock, for the first time in minutes looked at Thomas, but said nothing.

Thomas sighed and wordlessly handed an extra gun to Holmes. They both quietly made sure that their guns were full of bullets. Afterward, Thomas retrieved a spare gun for himself, he handed Holmes a spare cartridge of bullets while giving himself the same. Thomas hide the bag he was carring behind the lorry.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as Thomas took out a knife and secured it to himself. Thomas only shrugged.

Sherlock stared him in the eyes. Thomas looked away from the detective's eyes as he took a final glance at the five-story building and windows. He then turned his head to Holmes and nodded. Sherlock needed no more encouragement. He was running toward the building, gun drawn and pointing toward the ground while running low.

Thomas ran just slightly behind. The only sounds heard was the rhythmic tap of shoed feet as it connected with paved road. Thomas jogged quickly so that Holmes would not pull ahead, he eyed the building as he ran.

He vaguely wondered if Mr. Holmes ran track and field in his school days.


	147. Chapter 143

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 143

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Again, thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N: I completely rewrote these chapters as well as the others, _again_. I hope you enjoy. Tell me what you think.**

* * *

><p><strong>Love and Lots of Tea, Zacha<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em>"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?"~<em> **Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

><p>The television crews were on their way. Mycroft had been able to delay them but someone leaked the information to the press. Mycroft sighed as he and Anthea walked to the front of the building. He glanced as he pulled out his chained watch before securing it again back in his vest pocket. As they drew close to the front glass, it was clear that there were people who did not quite belong there. Their guns pointed at the chest of Mycroft Holmes gave away that fact.<p>

Anthea had put her phone in her suit jacket pocket and raised her hands. Mycroft did not change his expression or even raise his hands. Mycroft in fact looked bored. He stopped short of the door. Several agents outside drew their guns and automatic weapons and took aim at the criminals.

Someone, who was presumed to be the leader came forward with a mobile phone. "Mr. Holmes, come in you have a phone call."

"No," Mycroft said evenly, "Release them first." The leader looked smug and smiled as he glanced to the soldier next to him. "What's to prevent him from forcing you in this door physically?"

Mycroft looked the leader up and down deducing him. He stared him in the eyes. He then looked pointedly at his chest. When the leader looked down, he saw several red laser dots on his chest. The smile left as he said, "You could still be shot."

"Yes, so could you." Mycroft stepped closer to his gun. The soldier frowned and almost backed up but held his ground.

"There, feel better even you could not miss at this distance. Let them go. If I try anything unwanted, you can have the distinct pleasure of shooting me. Of course that pleasure will be, shall we say… **short** lived."

Anthea's face was unreadable. Her eyes traveled, as she seemed to be almost examining the men visual while saying nothing.

The leader frowned as he considered the proposal. He then spoke something to a man close by. "Only the children."

"There's someone pregnant, it would be much less trouble for you when you let her go that if she stays and begins labor, maybe even give birth. Consider it an act of good will," Mycroft added. His expression told the leader that this was not a point of negotiation. The soldier hesitated for a moment as his frown deepened. He wondered how this man in front of him could know so much. He spoke again and a different soldier ran off.

Seventeen minutes later, forty-two, children exited the building. Some walked quickly with a look of shock on their faces. Two girls walked slowly holding on to each other while looking around as if they were unsure of where to go. They started running when they spotted an agent shouting directions and waving a hand. The rest was already running toward the two agents that had lowered their weapons and were waving them on while shouting directions and encouragement.

Another seven minutes passed and a very pregnant teacher walked out with a very frightened and crying little boy in her arms. She walked slowly as she softly spoke words of comfort to the crying child. Her legs were shaking as if she would collapse at any moment from both the exertion and fatigue. A man whether he was an agent or an officer, it was unclear; was by their side in a minute. He scooped up the child from the relieved teacher. One arm held the child that had a death grip on his neck. The other arm was under the pregnant woman, supporting her as they made their way as quickly as possible. Her hand supported her enlarged abdomen.

The television crews arrived just in time to see the mass exit and a man and woman in the distance by the door.

"Happy now, I have kept my end of the arrangement, Mr. Holmes." The soldier looked at Him now.

"Overjoyed, this **is** my happy face," Mycroft said flatly. The soldier stared strangely as Holmes walked on his own accord into the building with Anthea following.


	148. Chapter 144

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 144

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Again, thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N: I completely rewrote these chapters as well as the others, again. I hope you enjoy. Tell me what you think.**

**Love and Lots of Tea, Zacha**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Memory is man's greatest friend and worst enemy<strong>_."~ Gilbert Parker

* * *

><p>He glanced anxiously out the window as he looked at the traffic. He paced nervously back and forth. He ran his hand through his hair several times now, it was standing straight up in some places. They had gone too far this time. He wondered with guilt about what was now happening to the Doctor, he liked him. They would have him by now.<p>

He swallowed hard. His stomach flipped slightly.

He did not even want to think about what they were doing to the Consultant Detective. If their plan worked, they should have him by now as well. One of the soldiers told him about what was already done to Holmes. He also overheard them talking and laughing. If their leader was to get Holmes again…, he stopped the thought. He could not however stop the images.

It was true that the Consultant Detective could be abrupt, but despite Anderson's obvious hate and constant gossip; the truth was that Holmes has saved a lot of people from harm.

The guilt came. He should have protected Holmes. He was already injured, hurt and worse. Instead, he was helping to hurt him, to torture him, to break his mind, and to break his body.

He did not have a choice, he justified himself. His conscience told him that he was lying. He was an officer of the law. He, in fact, had choices; they were just difficult choices. Ayyad's men instructed him to return to work and act normally until they needed him again.

He paced some more with his hands covering his face.

At least the plan was to not kill Holmes; at least not physically. The images that flooded his mind were enough to cause his stomach to twist suddenly again, but stronger this time. McMullen ran to the bathroom and fell to his knees as he clutched the porcelain bowl and retched.

He darkly realized that he was not untruthful after all when he called work and said that he was sick.

An explosion of sound and a disorienting flash of light filled the small space. He did not realize that he was now on the floor in his bathroom with his face pressed against the comfortingly cold tile. A combination of three agents and two Yarders were flooding the room. He was quickly handcuffed and dragged into the living area. He was practically dropped on the couch.

He was relieved. For a moment, he thought it might have been Ayyad's men.

No one said anything for a brief moment. There was sudden stillness and quiet, as the silence in the room became pregnant.

A part of McMullen mind notice Sergeant Sally Donovan and the new detective in the room. He tried to think of her name and finally remembered that it was Myers, Mary Myers.

Myers wore nice shoes. He noticed that fact because he could not bring himself to look into her eyes. He glanced around the room and saw similar looks that ranged from anger yet sympathy, to disappointment to combinations of the three.

Donovan kneeled down next to Joseph McMullen as she put her hand on his hand.

He ventured a look at Donovan. There was no mistaking her anger but there was also an underlying sympathy. "Who did they threaten to kill, was it Ellan?" Donovan was concerned about his girlfriend. "You need to tell us everything, don't worry we put her in protective custody." McMullen stared grimly at Donovan. He never noticed Myers moving closer.

Myers interrupted Donovan.

"We're sort of in a hurry so if you'll cut the crap, it would be greatly appreciated." Myer said impatiently as she pulled out a gun.

McMullen looked at Myers now and frowned.

"Tell them," she growled in a low and dangerous voice. Everyone looked at McMullen with confusion as they waited to understand what could have caused such a betrayal from one of their own, a second-generation law enforcement officer.

McMullen sighed and then spoke as he focused on the wall. "I had debt, quite a bit. Someone came to me and offered to… help. It wasn't that bad at first just a little information here and there. Copying a document or two, stealing or planting false evidence. It changed, they seemed to be interested in anything that had to do with Sherlock Holmes, his cases, his habits. When Holmes came back, I mean from the dead, you know what I mean; they paid me to know what was occurring starting from the moment the news of his resurrection hit the news."

Donovan had risen and was no longer holding his hand.

He looked at her pleadingly.

"How the bloody hell was I to know that they would take it this far, I thought they would just beat him up a little, I didn't know that they would…" he stopped talking suddenly.

"They paid you quite a bit of money for your gambling problem." Myers said. There was a pause, as stunned looks appeared on the faces of the Scotland Yard personal. "No one was threatened in your case except maybe yourself if you back out of your little arrangement."

She looked him over with contempt, "Where is Doctor Watson being kept. You've become close to one of the younger soldiers that is stationed in England, what did he say." His mouth hung open as he wondered how she knew so much. Who was this Myers, he questioned as he closed his mouth and pulled his lips into a straight line and frowned. He said nothing more.

"I need a moment alone," Myers said as she pulled out her gun.

Donovan opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. Mycroft agents already left and were outside the door. She nodded to the Yarders who walked out now. She looked at Myers and looked McMullen. Donovan then walked out without looking back again or saying another word.

The door closed as she attached a silencer to her gun, she gazed at McMullen who looked at her warily.

"Where is Doctor Watson? Do try to remember that I am in a hurry?" She said in a voice as sweet as honey.


	149. Chapter 145

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 145

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Again, thank you for your comments this last week it kept me going. **

**A/N: I completely rewrote these chapters as well as the others, again. I hope you enjoy. Tell me what you think.**

**Love and Lots of Tea, Zacha**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear."<strong>_ ~ Mark Twain

* * *

><p>The building was massive with several heights. They had managed to avoid detection so far. Most of the externally located rooms were bright and well lit because of sunlight.<p>

The inner rooms were in a semi dark state. Because of this their eyes needed to adjust. This caused moments where it was more dangerous to move until their eyes adjusted.

Sherlock and Thomas came to a new corridor and approached with caution.

They avoided one soldier who seemed to be patrolling the perimeter. That was the second one that they noticed so far. They were on the third floor now.

Two more floors to go.

* * *

><p>Mycroft picked up the phone and listen. There was silence for a moment. Mycroft rolled his eyes at the obvious power play and waited.<p>

Holmes noticed that two soldiers stayed close, as the rest walked quickly to carry out what Mycroft suspected was last minute preparations. He also considered the fact that they could be fleeing. Maybe the bomb was already started. Mycroft knew that he would soon find out.

"Mr. Holmes the elder." The voice on the phone line said. The voice on the line was silent again after that.

Mycroft waited a few seconds before replying. Two could play the game.

"Now that I am assured that you know my name, perhaps you can tell me what you want, or am I to guess." Mycroft waited for his reaction.

After a moment of silence, he heard laughter. "Sarcasm is a family trait I see. You're almost as entertaining as your brother. The only thing I love about him more than his wit is his sounds. He stubbornly refused to make much sounds but I did finally get a lovely moan out of him. Soon I plan to finally get a scream."

Mycroft said nothing as his eyes narrowed dangerously. He was careful to keep his voice level despite the fact that he felt his pulse quicken out of rage. He took a breath.

"Now that you've confessed your twisted fetishes, do you want to stay on topic and tell me why I'm here, I'm terribly busy as you can imagine."

This reaction surprise Ayyad who was disappointed that he did not get a more passionate reaction out of Mycroft.

"You know what I have, what you've walked into?"

"Of course," Mycroft sounded insulted.

"And, you still came. You and your brother are alike, aren't you." Ayyad sounded amused.

Mycroft frowned at the statement but said nothing. For all his intellect, he could not see the truth in his words.

"You did not ask about Doctor Watson?"

"I knew that you could barely contain the need to tell me," Mycroft was becoming impatient, however, his voice did not betray the fact.

There was more silence.

"What are your demands?" Mycroft finally asked sounding relaxed.

Ayyad could not see the clinch in his jaws.

* * *

><p>Lestrade received a call from Myers. The Inspector was lost in thought and worry. He had already driven to the last location that Thomas had called in. The suspects were already moved and the last dead body was about to be moved when the call came in.<p>

He ran toward the car, with a flood of agents and Yarders following.

He had lost contact with Thomas half an hour ago. Sherlock had only texted once and also was not answering. He sighed, feeling a headache forming. Now, with a new location, the team rushed along with the sirens blaring. Several cars with agents and Yarders followed.

Lestrade picked up his phone now to make another call. His mind focused on Sherlock and John. He closed his eyes and dry wiped his face. A voice on the other end picked up. Lestrade gave the location of where he wanted emergency personnel to meet the team. He thought he would not have time to wait for an ambulance.

He hoped he was wrong but this was Sherlock.

* * *

><p>Ayyad spoke with a level voice.<p>

"You have caused me a lot of trouble, men, and money Mr. Holmes. With the exception of your brother, No one has caused more… shall we say irritation." Ayyad paused while speaking for dramatic effect.

"Imagine your brother, you must, what is the word you people use, ah…yes, **love** him. Imagine your brother when I have finished with him. When I've broken his body, when I've broken his will, when I've finally broken his remarkable mind. Even the strongest man will need someone. What if the people he needs the most are not there. What if his Doctor Watson is dead. His big brother is not there to protect him. Alone with all those terrible images floating around in his mind. Then, he receives a video e-mail of his very specific… abuse. Do you think he would still be able to feel the hands touching him? From what I recall, he does not like to be touched." There was a pause to allow Mycroft to process what he said.

"How long do you think it will take for him to put a bullet in his brain?"

Ayyad paused again before speaking. Mycroft did not notice that he was gripping the umbrella so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"This is the beauty Mr. Holmes. Your brother dies at his own hand, but it's me that really killed him." Ayyad now started to laugh. "How does that sound, Doctor Watson." There was a slight pause before he spoke again, "Doctor Watson seems to be struggling. He does not seem to get my little joke. The man has no sense of humor."

"**You're going to die… soon**," Mycroft said clearly and slowly. Mycroft's voice was no longer casual but dangerous and threatening.

"So, you do have some emotions. I hardly think that you are in a position to…" Gunshots were heard on the phone line. The call disconnected abruptly.

"I told you…" Mycroft whispered to the air. He hoped that Thomas was with Sherlock.

Anthea came close to Mycroft. Both of their backs were to the two soldiers. Mycroft held the phone to his ear despite the fact that the call was disconnected in an effort to not alert the soldier present to anything wrong.

"I think my brother have arrived at Doctor Watson's location. Let's provide the proper distraction."

Anthea, seeing the look in his eyes, already positioned her hand as close to her gun as possible without causing suspicion. Mycroft pushed a button on the handle of his umbrella. A slight click sound resulted. Mycroft discreetly pulled on the handle to reveal the edges of a blade.

"What do you have in mind, Sir?" Anthea whispered.

Mycroft simply raised his eyebrows.


	150. Chapter 146

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 146

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

Thank you for reading, commenting, adding to favorite, and reviewing

**A/N****:**** I hope you enjoy these chapters. Thank you for your comments and review. To those of you who are new to commenting, I have noticed (Smile). To my regular family, all my love :) **

**Love and Teddy bears, Zacha**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the core of<strong>_

_**strength within you that survives all hurt."**_ ~Max Lerner, _The Unfinished Country_, 1950

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

One more floors to go.

They were on the fourth floor now with only one floor left. The stairs were on the other side of the corridor. The patrolling soldier passed by similarly unaware of the agent and the Consultant Detective who were trying their best to become part of the wall and still their movements.

They came to the end of one corridor and faced a new corridor. There was one passageway on the left, one on the right, and one straight forward. Thomas was in the lead. There were a few yards of space where there would be no coverage. Thomas thought for a moment. It was one of the many risky movements they had to hazard since entering the building.

Thomas nodded at Sherlock and then motioned with his hand for him to go first. Sherlock acknowledged his directive with a return nod. He could see straight ahead clearly but not in the other two directions, so he eased his way to the edge of the wall. He glanced in both directions then quickly passed the open space and went into the next corridor and formed his body close to the wall. Thomas did the same and was about to pass the open space when it happened.

Thomas saw the slight widening of Holmes eyes as his mouth simultaneously started to open. Thomas' eyes widened as he attempted to turn at the same time as a click of a door closing was heard. Thomas knew with chilling certainty that he would not be able to react in time.

Shots rang out as both the sounds of flesh being hit and the thud of a body, pierced the air and echoed down the corridor.

* * *

><p>Lestrade sat with his hand tightly gripped to his phone. The cars sped their way along the highway toward the location that Myers and Donovan called in. Donovan was also on her way to the location that Watson was reported to be detained at. Myers was on her way to the suspected bomb location. The location of a bomb that if it were to detonate, would be considered a national disaster.<p>

Lestrade sighed. He hoped Sherlock managed to stay alive.

Lestrade was very concerned about the young detective. Despite his confident appearance, it was obvious from the last time that he saw him at the flat, that he was physically and emotionally holding on by a thread. He felt guilty at the fact that Sherlock slipped out of flat without being detected. A part of him wondered if he knew in his heart what was going to happen but allowed it.

A part of him may have.

Even in Sherlock's current state, Lestrade had to confess privately that he knew him well enough to trust him. Even with all odds against him, Sherlock always came out on top.

He thought back to when he met Sherlock.

Lestrade had known Sherlock at his worst, as a brilliant, genius-level but loss, upper-class kid who had an uncanny ability to see patterns in seemingly disconnected events.

The first time that he met him, he was in the process of arresting him for simple drugs possession. Lestrade smiled at the realization that he was sarcastic even back then.

The skinny kid was in the back seat of the police cruiser. Sherlock's eyes were closed therefore, Lestrade had assumed that he had passed out. Lestrade as a young detective, was discussing a case by phone as he drove. It had been his current case; the unsolved murder of an older couple who reported a suspected drug dealer.

Sherlock opened his eyes and within minutes was asking questions. As a joke, Lestrade had told him the facts of the case. With fifteen more minutes, Sherlock had made a deduction and informed Lestrade of who the killer was. It was the live in nephew for the insurance money, not the drug dealer just taken into custody. This was right before he passed out. Sherlock would be later proven right. The nephew confessed everything and hung himself in the jail cell.

Lestrade had convinced his partner to have him give the kid a onetime break instead of booking him on drug possession. Within twenty-minutes, his brother, a younger Mycroft Holmes pulled his car into a park and Lestrade release him to his brother, on the condition that Sherlock would agree to let his brother get him in rehab.

Two months later, a clean Sherlock Holmes and his brother turned up with the proposal of helping with cases. Lestrade agreed as long as Sherlock agreed to stay clean.

A year later, the Consultant Detective position was created.

Lestrade came out of his thoughts as he looked at the exit to the highway. He glanced at his watch. He was growing impatient. Something in his gut told him that time was against Sherlock and also against John.

He willed the car to move faster.


	151. Chapter 147

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 147

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

Thank you for reading, commenting, adding to favorite, and reviewing

**A/N****:**** I hope you enjoy these chapters. Thank you for your comments and review. To those of you who are new to commenting, I have noticed (Smile). To my regular family, all my love :) **

**Love and Teddy bears, Zacha**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest meaning provides steel and strength<em>**

**_to our bones."~ _**Grace Freeman

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Two soldiers were dead and the other wounded with a stab to his abdomen. Mycroft and Anthea were held in the lower level being shot at as they took cover near a room behind a short cement barrier. The place seemed abandoned except for the three soldiers that were shooting at them. They had managed to open the door and release the twelve adults that were locked into a room. The room was guarded by one now dead soldier.

However, they had to engage the remaining soldiers to give the hostages time to escape. Mycroft confessed that there were three problems with their little impromptu plan. The first was that they had to hold off the soldiers who were better armed. The second was that they were running out of bullets. The third was that even though one soldier was _persuaded_ to tell them where the bomb was, it was straight ahead, right pass the other soldiers who were now shooting at them. There was also the fact that Mycroft was hit with a bullet.

"_Ok,"_ Mycroft corrected his thoughts, _"so there was four not three things wrong with the plan." _

Sherlock would never let him forget that last little fact.

Nevertheless, the idea to distract the soldiers away from the fact that their boss might be in trouble, and give Sherlock a fighting chance was working judging from the bullets flying their way. At least, that part seemed to have worked. Mycroft would congratulate himself, if he lived through the experience. He now remembered the downfall of fieldwork.

Mycroft had a gun. They had two more in reserve that were collected from the downed and fallen soldiers.

"How close are the agents?"

"Twenty-three minutes, Sir."

They were a bomb shelter with a tunnel leading to the outside. A tunnel that was not supposed to be public knowledge. Mycroft suspected that that is how the other soldiers disappeared and had his men stationed at the exit, with the instructions to let them exit the tunnel, then engage and arrest them. With the hostages still in the tunnel, he did not want a repeat situation with the hostages caught between a gunfight, and a ticking bomb in a tunnel with no other exits.

If he looked logically at his current situation, it did not look good.

The elder Holmes allowed himself to wonder for a brief moment at the irony of the fact that he was in a situation that if Sherlock were in, he would have given him a stern lecture on acting emotionally instead of with pure logic. He frowned at the consideration that he had acted even remotely as Sherlock would have acted.

Ridiculous.

He dismissed the thoughts and prepared to return gunfire. The soldiers were starting to shoot again.

* * *

><p>A soldier lay moaning on the ground after being shot. Sherlock still had his arm extended. Thomas nodded thanks to Sherlock before making a suggestion.<p>

"Mr. Holmes I think our attempt at discretion has failed," Thomas looked nervously in all directions.

"And you would suggest, Thomas?"

"Run, Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock nodded their agreement and they ran.

* * *

><p>Lestrade looked at his watch. They should be there soon. He hoped it would not be too late to get the codes for the bomb, and save John, and save Sherlock and countless people from the fallout.<p>

He would need a holiday when this was over.

* * *

><p>John watched Ayyad carefully. He had been gagged the moment that the shots started. He tried to work his hands free but whoever tied the knots was a professional. He knew that it was useless but still had to try.<p>

Something was happening but he did not know what exactly. If this were Mycroft, there would have been more explosions and something more dramatic occurring. John had been through a war. Mycroft knew war.

The scattered shot patterns were not one of an organized tactical team who were trying to gain control of a building floor by floor. They were the patterns of someone who was trying to pick off men, as they quickly moved trying to stay far enough ahead of the enemy not to be shot.

Ayyad had been talking to Mycroft. He had dropped the phone the moment the gunfire started. He called his men and ordered them into the room. The fact that they had not arrived comforted John. That meant that Sherlock was still alive and fighting. That was Sherlock; he would fight until his last breath.

John hoped that, that last breath was not today.

The gunfire had died down. He hoped that Sherlock had some help with him. He also hoped Sherlock did not get himself killed. A few minutes passed. The scattered gunshots started again in earnest.

Sherlock was close now.

* * *

><p>Mycroft and Anthea were down to their last bullets.<p>

"How many do you have Anthea?"

"Four Sir, and you."

"Three."

Mycroft did not want to mention the fact that he was starting to feel lightheaded. He deduced from the way that Anthea was looking at him, he did not have to; she already knew. She took a moment to tear the edged of her skirt to add another layer to his makeshift bandages. Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he commented.

"I don't think that you can afford to sacrifice much more of that skirt."

"Seeing a little leg won't hurt you Mr. Holmes, you may even enjoy it," Anthea responded with a smirk as she continued her quick movements.

Mycroft mouth formed a real smile. That was a close to a joke as he had ever seen her come. She smiled back as she tried to pack the wound tighter.

"Are you ready?" She asked before she pushed down and prepared to pull the cloth that held the makeshift dressings tight.

Mycroft nodded as he bit his lips.

As she pulled quickly and pushed as hard as possible, she felt Mycroft's body tense and he closed his eyes. He had a death grip on her hand. He took a few minutes to even out his breathing and blinked away the fog. He swallowed hard as nausea hit him for the first time.

"Well," Mycroft said a little weaker than a moment ago, "back to the matter at hand."

Anthea looked at him and frowned. His last bandaged was already soaked through. She could not see what could be done. Anthea knew that if she told Mycroft to lay still and not move, he would never do it. He knew that she needed help to hold off the soldiers. She frowned and nodded as she picked back up her gun and waited for them to shoot again. There was no point in wasting bullets. She did not comment on the fact that Mycroft hands were starting to shake.


	152. Chapter 148

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 148

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

Thank you for reading, commenting, adding to favorite, and reviewing

**A/N****:**** I hope you enjoy these chapters. Thank you for your comments and review. To those of you who are new to commenting, I have noticed (Smile). To my regular family, all my love :) **

**Love and Teddy bears, Zacha**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that<strong>_

_**cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are."**_ ~Arthur Golden

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

They made it to the last floor but were immobilized by the gunfire. Thomas and Sherlock had managed to pick off several men who were either dead or wounded, judging from the moaning. The floor they were on, was well light with several skylights. The floor had a large open area with one door on the left, and one on the right, which presumable lead into large rooms. The open area had scattered half walls, with a dusty cubicle area containing furniture. It had been an office at one time.

Sherlock deduced from the cluster of soldiers on their right that, that was the door they needed to go in.

Earlier, they had accidentally ventured into a room with torture devices. A table with restraints, and drugs were also there and neatly organized. The sudden flood of memory had caused Sherlock to become lost for a moment. It took Thomas slapping him hard on the face, for Sherlock to come back to himself. He had nodded apologetically to Thomas who quickly dismissed it and smiled his understanding.

The entire embarrassing episode had been over in less than two minutes and they continued their journey without further incident. Neither man mentioned the occurrence again.

Sherlock took comfort in the fact that there was no blood. He knew from personal experience that if the room had been used, there would have been a lot of blood. At least, that is what he told himself.

There had not been gunfire for seven minutes. This information did not comfort either man. It if fact did the opposite.

"They're trying to sneak around," Thomas whispered.

"The thought had occurred," Sherlock confessed.

"How many did you count that were left?" Thomas asked.

"Three, maybe four. You?" Sherlock looked around.

"The same," Thomas glance at the half wall as he touched it.

"If bullets are shot through these thin half walls, we could still be hit." Thomas returned his attention to the corridors.

"That thought has also occurred." Sherlock glanced at the walls as well.

Thomas glanced around again and made a decision.

"Turn your back to mine, that way we can cover both possible directions of approach."

Sherlock nodded and quickly turned his back to Thomas, both had their gun drawn and waited.

Sherlock took a breath to calm himself and listened. His body suddenly stiffened. He glanced at Thomas, and realized that he heard it too, footsteps approaching.

What occurred next seemed dreamlike.

It was as if time itself had slowed to a crawl, and he was looking at the scene of a movie, not his life and his reality. Sherlock saw the first soldier round the corner of the partition wall. He saw the feet of another who was about to cross. He heard a violent explosion of gunfire, flesh being struck with bullets.

Finally, he heard Thomas as he grunted with pain.

* * *

><p>Gunfire exploded suddenly. The sounds were alarmingly close. Anthea simultaneously felt the rush of air from a fired bullet a second after she felt herself pulled back suddenly by Mycroft.<p>

He had his arm straight with his gun pointed out; it had just been fired at a soldier who fell at their feet, dead. She nodded at Mycroft who nodded back. The act seemed to take the last of Mycroft's strength, who now fell heavily to the ground. Anthea caught him best she could so that he would not fall un-cushioned.

They noticed that the gun battle was almost over, and there were other people shooting at the soldiers who were suddenly the ones who were outnumbered. In less than five minutes, they with relief heard an agent give the _all-clear_ call.

Anthea stood and shouted their location.

Within minutes, agents flooded the room. There was a flurry of activity and conversations.

"Sir we need to get you out of here."

"I'm afraid I'm rather tired of walking at the moment. Get the agents out of here, leave ten agents and the bomb expert. All volunteers." Anthea turned to leave but Mycroft held her hand.

"Kitty, all agents without families if possible, and it's time for you to leave as well. We both know that carrying me, you would not be able to make it out of the tunnel in time. The men leaving now may not make it. And, even if I could, we both also know that I'm not leaving a bomb of that kind to blow up in my England."

"Sir, unless I'm fired, I'll give your instructions to the agents, but I'm staying by your side." Anthea was determined.

He was about to argue but thought better and nodded.

Myers ran up to Mycroft. "Are you hit Mycroft?" Her own question was answered as she looked at his right side of his shirt below his unbuttoned vest and saw blood.

"This looked like your handiwork." Mycroft stated changing the subject.

"Sorry I'm late, Sir… But, we need to get you out."

"**No**." He looked around and spoke with as much authority as he could muster under the circumstances.

"Take me to the bomb site, the rest of you evacuate. I suggest you use haste." Mycroft attempted to stand but was swaying.

There was sudden activity.

Two agents picked up Mycroft as they half walked, half dragged him into the room with the device. Myers followed.

"Did they deactivate the lasers by the doors and windows yet?" Mycroft inquired.

"They're working on it, Sir," Myers said as she secured her gun.

No one could leave through the front doors which was the quickest way, because of the laser triggers that were activated.

Anthea quickly joined him in the room as the bomb expert told them what they already knew. "I can try to crack the code but that would take time."

He was instructed to start to work on the codes straight away.

Everyone looked grimly at the timer as it counted down.

Everyone thought the same thing. A ten-kilometer radius could not be evacuated without causing more death from panic than from the bomb. Depending on the current gust of wind, it could be even more.

"What do we do now, Sir?" Anthea asked.

"We wait for a miracle; I think he may be occupied at the moment." Mycroft replied sincerely.

Mycroft thought of Sherlock.

* * *

><p>The entire group of soldiers that remained were dead. Thomas lay on the ground with a bullet in his leg.<p>

"I'm afraid… you'll have to proceed without me…, sir." Thomas eyes were heavy and he was breathing rapidly. Sherlock tied Thomas' necktie to his leg. The wave of pain that resulted when it was pulled tight had cause Thomas to almost pass out.

"Thomas, help is on the way, stay still." He left one gun with him and refilled John's gun with bullets. Sherlock un-wrapped his neck scarf and had it rolled under Thomas head as a cushion.

Thomas nodded.

Sherlock frowned as he took a look at Thomas and turned to leave. Thomas grabbed his coat sleeve.

"Mr. Holmes, don't get yourself killed. I'd h…hate for your brother to h…have me d…disappeared." Thomas meant to say be careful.

"You know me?" Sherlock tried to lighten the moment.

"Yes," Thomas looked somber.

Sherlock smiled at that before his frown returned, "Thomas," He waited for him to focus, "**Stay**. **Awake**."

Sherlock waited for Thomas to nod an understanding before he squeezed his arm. He gave him one last glance and stood. He then advanced gun drawn toward the door on the right side of the opened space.

Sherlock took a deep breath as his hand gripped the doorknob.

"Let the show begin," he whispered.

* * *

><p>AN: 10 kilometers is roughly 6.3 miles. _**Comments please.** Love to All._


	153. Chapter 149

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 149

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

***Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post**, **welcome.**

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Thank you for your comments. It gives me the extra push that I need. It kept me going. Love you all.**

**A/N: I posted part of this a little early because of private and public requests. I hope it lives up to your expectation. Love you all. Good luck to all graduates and those taking final and entrance exams. Let's all do well and survive!**

**Love and Lots and Lots of Coffee, Zacha :)**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>I never wonder to see men wicked, but I often wonder to see them not ashamed<strong>__**" ~ **_Jonathan Swift

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock turned the doorknob and let it swing open. There was no point in trying to muffle the sound, his arrival was apparent. There were a few yards of a wall that blocked the room. He walked slowly pass it with his gun drawn. He was fatigued so he kept both hands on the gun as opposed to one.

As Sherlock walked in the room, he found Ayyad standing with his gun drawn looking at him.

He, with John beside him, was at the end of the very long but narrow room. John was tied to a chair and gagged. John eyes followed Sherlock but he did not make a sound. There was not much furniture and the little that was there was pushed to the side against the long wall by the windows.

"So, you called Ayyad." Sherlock walked in gun drawn.

Although he knew someone had broken in, he expected a group of trained agents not Holmes, and certainly not Holmes by himself. He not only had the physical strength to walk in, but also was apparently the cause of all the chaos.

Ayyad had a moment of true shock.

He did expect Holmes just broken, sniveling, dragged in kicking and screaming. Pleading, along with a few bruises from resistance would have been a nice touch.

Well, at least he was bruised.

The events of the last fifteen minutes were unexpected.

"You came, albeit, not as I planned." Ayyad had his gun pointed at Sherlock. He was watching him closely.

He took in his bruised and bleeding face and general appearance, he looked like he had been in a fight; he sighed. That explained the gunshots.

"You've spoiled my planned evening entertainment, Mr. Holmes. You were to be the main event, although I was going to make it a double act."

"What could you possibly have planned that topped what was already done to me? Slowly skin me alive while Mozart plays in the background softly?" Sherlock walked forward, both hands on John's gun, while scanning the area.

"I was planning on playing Bach," Ayyad said dryly.

"Sorry to disappoint." Sherlock kept his eyes on Ayyad , but risked a glance at John.

"Well Mr. Holmes, since we are just here pointing guns at each other; care to answer a few questions?" Ayyad asked conversationally.

There was a brief moment of tense silence.

"You're the mole?"

Sherlock said nothing but took another step forward.

"I had many men killed thinking they were betraying me, information that no one could possibly know kept "leaking out". I looked within my organization. I never considered looking without. Was it you?" Ayyad had a mixture of anger and intrigue wrestling in his mind.

Sherlock smirked then stopped moving for a moment. His head was still but his eyes moved scanning.

Ayyad notice Sherlock's brief smirk. "Oh, I see," He said.

"You have been a thorn in my side Mr. Holmes," Ayyad reported as he frowned.

"My reputation precedes me." Sherlock risked a look at John quickly again, trying to reassure him.

John had dried blood on his temple and cheek and looked a bit battered and roughed up, but his eyes were clear and strong. Sherlock saw a little fear but mostly anger.

John discreetly nodded.

Sherlock was relieved. They had not had time to start the real torture on John yet then. He had not been too late. No apparent concussion either Sherlock thought, but he could not be sure without talking to John. He forced himself to direct all his consideration on Ayyad now that he felt John was at least in no immediate danger.

"So, you manipulated all of us, revealing secrets, even from the beginning. The entire time it was… you." Ayyad looked amazed and wanted confirmation.

"What secrets? Oh… you mean like the fact that you were making money on side deals, or that you planned to blow up the innocent because you find it amusing, or that you had a contract with Moriarty's rival and told him how and where to assassinate Moriarty. What's the matter, too afraid to face Moriarty yourself?" Sherlock intended for his tone to be mocking.

As dangerous as Ayyad thought that Holmes was, this little heart-to-heart confirmed his new suspicion, that Holmes had been ten times more dangerous a man than he first believed.

* * *

><p>Ayyad thought deeply as he looked at Sherlock's gun that was pointed at his chest. Sherlock obviously was not interested in injuring him. His aim was deadly, not that he could blame him.<p>

Ayyad grew up in a crime syndicate. His father had always given him his every whim. He was taught that nothing he wanted was unreasonable. That he was the god of his world. He was taught to care for no one, that caring was a weakness. He feared no one in the world, ever, but Moriarty.

His father said the word **no** to him only once. He considered the fact that he killed his father soon after that and took over his father's kingdom. His father would have given it to him one day but, why wait. As he stood before Holmes, it was the first time in his spoiled and privileged life that he felt the slightest sensation of fear, with the exception of Moriarty

Another first in his life occurred simultaneously; it was doubt. He privately wondered if Veselý was right about Holmes. Should he have just killed him the first chance he had? Was Holmes really too dangerous to breathe?

Ayyad's eyes narrowed as he looked at Holmes suddenly determined to have his answers.

"The woman, what's her name?" Intrigue left Ayyad only anger remained.

"Sorry, it escapes me," Sherlock replied flatly. He started moving forward again.

"Who is she to you that you would suffer so much to protect her?" Ayyad wondered aloud.

Sherlock said nothing.

"You really are as annoying as they say," Ayyad's face flashed irritation as it now joined rage.

"Again, my reputation precedes me." Sherlock inched his way toward John.

"My men?" Ayyad asked already knowing the answer.

Sherlock smiled but said nothing.

Ayyad wondered not for the first time in minutes, who was this Sherlock Holmes, really.

"So what do we do now point guns at each other for all eternity," Ayyad asked.

"Actually, I plan to shoot you, save John, and recover the last code for the bomb, any particular order will do."

Sherlock glanced at Ayyad up and down making a deduction. "So, still keep the codes in your left pocket. Rather unimaginative, although admittedly convenient."

"It will not do you any good, Mr. Holmes unless I have some sort of _sign_ that you surrender."

Ayyad smirked briefly but it turned into a frown.

Sherlock noticed the smirk and filed the information away. He thought Ayyad's statement and facial expression seemed a little odd and out of place. Sherlock kept his face blank.

Ayyad scowled left as he looked at Holmes appearance. He was obviously freshly bruised, and that was what he could see. He smiled at the thought. He was breathing faster than he should be and sweating. The Consultant Detective appeared to be near exhaustion but Ayyad did not trust that fact. His personal experience told him that Holmes seemed to be able to pull some sort of last energy reserve out of a hat when it suited him.

Ayyad looked at his face again. He grimaced every now and then. He doubted the detective was even aware that he was grimacing. The way he moved, he was in pain and trying to hide it.

Ayyad thought that he should know. He had caused enough people pain to recognize someone in pain. Holmes was trying unsuccessfully to hide that fact.

Ayyad's smile widened.

Sherlock hands started to have the slightest of shakes.

"I can tell you're fatigued, not quite back to yourself are you Holmes? What kind of injuries do you have Mr. Holmes; want to share the details? It really would make my day." Ayyad mocked.

"I guess trauma of _that _nature takes a while to recover from." Ayyad grinned , "Some never recover completely do they Mr. Holmes?"

"Oh I don't know; I'm tougher than I look. You've underestimated me three times now. Underestimating me again would be a mistake." Sherlock stepped closer and maintain both hands on the gun, attempting to edge his way toward John. Step-by-step, he had managed to move a little more than one-fourth the distance across the elongated room now.

Ayyad looked at Holmes, really looked at him. Ayyad smile faded when he looked into Sherlock's eyes. He did see pain, but he also saw a steel-like, confident determination that seemed to overshadow everything else.

Ayyad's heart rate was picking up now. If he was not so distracted, Ayyad would have noticed sweat starting to form on his own forehead as well as upper lip and running down his back. He wondered at the unfamiliar sensations of feeling as if a lump was in one's throat, and feeling as if one would explode out of one's own skin. He had no frame of reference for it.

Ayyad did not know that these were side effects of fear.

However, Sherlock noticed.

Ayyad heard the faintest of sounds. It was the sound of sirens approaching. It sounded still to be a long distant away. He had noticed too late. He sighed dramatically now.

Instantly, Ayyad realize he had been outplayed.


	154. Chapter 150

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 150

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

***Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post**, **welcome.**

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. **

****Thank you for your comments. It gives me the extra push that I need. It kept me going. Love you all.**

**A/N: I posted part of this a little early because of private and public requests. I hope it lives up to your expectation. Love you all. Good luck to all graduates and those taking final and entrance exams. Let's all do well and survive!**

**Love and Lots and Lots of Coffee, Zacha :)**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Shall I tell you what the real evil is? To cringe to the things that are called evils, to surrender to them our freedom, in defiance of which we ought to face any suffering.<strong>__**" ~ **_Seneca quotes

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Ayyad looked at Sherlock in disbelief, so many had died by his hand. How did this man not only outplay him but apparently Moriarty as well?

"Clearly I did underestimate you. I thought you were broken but I was wrong," Ayyad confessed now.

"Clearly," Sherlock agreed

Ayyad steeled his eyes, and sighed, "Well it would appear that I am out of options. At least I get to take you with me."

"Dull," Sherlock said.

"Seems that you're willing to rush in here, risking your life even torture to save him…," Ayyad motioned with the gun to John, "… maybe I'll shoot him and let you live, knowing you've failed."

Sherlock eyes narrowed his voice became dangerous, "You must know I'd never let you do that."

Ayyad smiled.

"It's me you want, and have wanted for a while. Don't you want to beat me to a bloody pulp? Don't you want to touch me, to punish me, hurt me since I've deprived you of your little… entertainment? What's stopping you? Let's see who's really tougher. Without the guns, of course. Can't have you changing your mind and shooting Doctor Watson, now can I."

Ayyad fingers twitched at the thought.

Sherlock noticed again._"__For the final push," he thought. "Shift the focus from John back to me."_

"You are the Criminal Mastermind, the most dangerous man in the world since Moriarty's death. One annoying man, that's what you think I am is it not. Surely you're not… **afraid**." Sherlock smirked as he stressed the word afraid, "I've caused a lot of trouble, would you not like to get your hands around my neck?"

Ayyad's eye blazed with anger.

Sherlock observed the delicate shift on his face; he knew he had the criminal's undivided attention again. Ayyad's focus and gun was now off John.

"What do you propose?" Ayyad eyes narrowed as he asked with caution.

"That we slowly walk toward each other with one hand up. We both hold the other's free arm, we both drop the gun at the same time and then… have a go at it. I certainly want my hands wrapped around your neck as much as you want your hands around mine."

Ayyad nodded, held up one hand, and started to walk. Sherlock did the same. They walked to the middle of the large sized room. Sherlock arrived first and waited for Ayyad, he wanted to get him as far away from John as possible. They slowly put their hand on the other person then both guns made clattering sounds, as they were dropped to the ground.

Ayyad started before the gun had even hit the ground. He swung his whole body backward full force and elbowed Sherlock in the Kidneys. Ayyad smiled at the resulting grunt of pain.

Ayyad's actions caused Sherlock to stumble sideways. Sherlock's already abused and battered body was momentary disoriented from the pain. Ayyad advanced on Sherlock to deliver another blow.

John who was perfectly quiet throughout the ordeal, now became vocal and grunted a warning to Sherlock as best he could with a gagged mouth.

It was unnecessary. Sherlock had recovered enough to notice him and barely duck the next blow as he swept the criminal's legs out from under him. Ayyad fell sideways but unfortunately grabbed at Sherlock's coat and took him down with him.

Both men were stunned from the fall, but Sherlock at this point was weaker. Ayyad recovered first. He had his hands around Sherlock's neck and was squeezing.

Ayyad eyed the gun that was outside of both of their reach. He could not reach it without letting Sherlock go. He did not intend to let him go. Sherlock's eyes widen, he knew that he did not have much time before he passed out from lack of oxygen.

He quickly kneed Ayyad in the groin at the same time as he took the palm of his hand and with the remaining energy reserve punched full force upward toward his nose.

Sherlock did not have time to notice as he flipped Ayyad so that he was now the one on top. Ayyad was moaning stunned and unmoving on the floor.

Sherlock did not notice him anymore as his hand came up. He did not see Ayyad but all the pain that he represented as his fist came down and the room melted away.

* * *

><p>The fight was vicious but brief.<p>

It ended with Sherlock on top of Ayyad repeatedly hitting him in the face even when it was not necessary.

The sounds of John muffled voice floated through the fog in Sherlock's mind. He did not remember getting his gun that he now held with the trigger pulled back, to Ayyad's head; despite the fact that he was on the ground moaning and bloodied.

He blinked a few times and looked at John who stopped making the strangled noises and looked relieved when he saw recognition in Sherlock's eyes.

He looked at his bloodied fist and was shocked because the blood was not his own. Sherlock swallowed hard and stumbled off the moaning man. He wiped the blood from his hands on his suit jacket violently.

Sherlock quickly picked up both guns and ran to John. He started to attempt to loosen the ties. They both chose not to comment on the fact that his fingers were trembling.

"Are you ok, John," Sherlock asked shakily after he loosened the gag up enough to push it down to his neck. He then continued to un-tie the piece of cloth.

"I'm fine, Sherlock"

Sherlock's fingers froze. He looked John in the eyes.

John instantly knew his friend's concerns.

"I'm really ok Sherlock apart from a little roughing up. He changed his mind, he took me to the room and went into great detail about…,"

John paused for a moment wondering how much to say. In the end, he would be completely honest. He always was, eventually. "…what would be done to me. About having you watch. Breaking you then having me watch while you were tortured. You arrived in time. I am really ok, I promise."

Sherlock said nothing further as he concentrated on untying John again.

John paused briefly before adding, "By the way, the only reason I tried to stop you, is if you continued you would have killed him. Not that I wouldn't want to kill Ayyad myself . It was for your benefit, Sherlock. I know you. You've shot plenty, but you've never killed a man . I know it would have troubled you, if you knew that you had a choice."

Sherlock in his own mind had committed the worst of all sins, he had lost control because of emotions, yet John's voice did not reveal the smallest hint of judgment only comfort.

Sherlock nodded gratefully as he concentrated on loosening his bonds.

Sherlock blinked and after a few seconds spoke as the shock started to subside.

"W… We have to hurry Thomas was hit." Sherlock's hands continued to shake. This frustrated Sherlock. It made untying to ropes more difficult.

John noticed as he frowned and looked Sherlock in the face. Sherlock was avoiding his eyes now.

"Sherlock?" Sherlock said nothing but continued working with the ropes.

"Sherlock would you look at me please," John grew more concerned.

"Bit of a hurry, John." Sherlock seemed to be concentrating on the ropes. On the other hand, maybe, John considered, he did not want to look him in the eyes again.

"Are **You** OK?"

"I'm…," There was a pause, "fine."

"John bit his lower lip as he closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. He made a decision.

"Well that's a relief, for a moment there, I thought you might have **actually** been hurt." John smiled at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.

They both were relieved to hear the siren. It sounded as if they were right outside now.

Sherlock finally managed to get one of the knots free. Sherlock did not hide the fact that the corners of his mouth turned up into a slow smile, he looked at John now amused without slowing down his work on the ropes. John could always make him feel better, Sherlock realized.

Car door slams and shouts and urgent voices were heard outside the building.

Some sounds echoed as if it was coming from inside the building as well now. It sounded as if the reverberations were still a short distance away from their immediate area.

"What's with the rope, didn't they hear of handcuffs?" Sherlock wondered aloud as he sighed relieved.

"Let's face it the man was disturbed, look at his bloody awful taste in neckties." John offered with a smile.

Sherlock chuckled now. John joined him in a giggle.

John smiled at Sherlock, "I guess we made it, Sher…" It was a split second. John eyes widened as he simultaneously opened his mouth intending to say something but did not have time.

Sherlock was already in a turn with his gun drawn the second he saw John's eyes. Sherlock's last thought was to shield John with his body from what he had sensed was coming.

The silence was broken as the popping sound of gunfire echoed in the enclosed space.

* * *

><p>AN: Hope it was worth the wait, let me know what you think. This is part I. Lots of Love.


	155. Chapter 151

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 151

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

To those who are new to reviews, thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, here is more.**

**A/N****:** _Folie à deux_ **means** _Madness of two_

**Love and Teddy bears, Zacha**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends." ~<strong>_ John 15:13

NLT

* * *

><p>Lestrade, Donovan, and the agents ran up the stairs with officers behind but they scattered as they cleared the lower levels room by room.<p>

They found Thomas and called for a medic. One agent stayed behind with him.

Three shots rang out from a room to their right; deafening sounds pierced the air. "Oh no," Lestrade whispered heart hammering in this chest.

He went into a full sprint. He vaguely heard footstep following behind him.

"Please God, no," Lestrade whispered a prayer as he entered the room to find on the ground an obviously dead Ayyad, judging from his open vacant eyes and gathering pool of blood under his head. One of his trouser pants leg was raised up slightly to reveal an ankle gun holster. His arm was still outstretched.

An agent started to search the body for the code as instructed by Holmes' note.

"**MEDIC **!" Lestrade called out as He ran to Sherlock. John was frantically pulling at the ropes. An agent untied John who was shouting at the top of his lungs as he called Sherlock's name and struggled against his restraint. Lestrade looked at Sherlock who lay still on the ground. One arm still outstretch from where he was holding John's gun.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock's head. His face was a little bloodied but that looked more like cuts from a fight. There was no bullet wound. Lestrade did however see two bullet holes in Sherlock's coat. Before he could pull it open, John was on his knees in 'save Sherlock's life,' mode. John ignored his own tears as he frantically tore Sherlock's shirt open sending buttons hurled on the floor.

Lestrade and John both stopped and stared open mouth, in shock.

* * *

><p>John, as gently as possible with Lestrade's help took off Sherlock's coat, jacket, and shirt. He then pulled the Velcro strips at the sides and eased the ultra thin vest over Sherlock's head. He then re-dressed Sherlock in his now button-less shirt and suit jacket.<p>

He fully buttoned his dress jacket to maintain Sherlock's dignity. Both John and Lestrade winced as they noticed his discolored and bruised torso. They wondered how much was from the impact of the bullets, and how much was Sherlock hiding from his earlier run-in with Ayyad's men.

Both men stared at his bulletproof vest as Sherlock moaned and started to come around. "Bloody, he wore it." John said smiling and astounded his tears instantly forgotten.

Lestrade smiled widely as he stared at Sherlock thinking that the man must have nine lives. Sherlock moaned as he blinked back the pain. He attempted to bring his hand up to his head to rub where a good size knot was forming on the back of his head. The action earned a grimace that turned into more groaning.

"Sherlock, you're alive." John said as they helped him to sit up.

Lestrade assisted John to steady Sherlock who was leaning toward one side while seated on the ground. His hands came up to his chest reflectively, and he winced as he touched it. Sherlock was so off balanced that he almost fell over.

Sherlock eyes rolled slightly as if he could not make up his mind if he wanted to become fully alert or pass out. He made movements as if he would like to get up, but couldn't quite seem to coordinate his movements. He shook his head to clear his mind this caused another wince. In the back of his mind, he fought against the disorientation.

Sherlock jerked as a sudden sharp pain radiated from his chest. A groan loud tore itself from Sherlock's lips.

"**That's it**! Maybe we should lay ourselves back down, Sherlock." John did not wait for a response but helped Sherlock lay gently back down, flat on his back. John cushioned Sherlock's head with Lestrade's coat. They used Sherlock's coat to cover him.

After a few minutes, Sherlock's groans died down and he blinked a few times and seemed more oriented. He also seemed to notice John for a first time.

"Ok?" Sherlock whispered concerned while looking John over then closing his eyes grimacing as a sudden flash of pain registered on his face.

"Oh… yea, I'm ok. It seems that I have a personal human shield." John visually examined Sherlock and raised his eyebrows, "Even though that's more than I can say for you." John looked at Sherlock's face now.

"Code?" Sherlock asked with his eyes still closed.

John looked at Lestrade.

"Oh, they found it, Sherlock." Lestrade answered for him.

"Thomas?"

John turned to Lestrade again to answer that question. Sherlock attempted to open one eye then the other, and looked at Lestrade.

"He lost some blood but he should be ok, he's a fighter. He almost took out one of the emergency workers. He thought that they were Ayyad's men." Lestrade could not help to smile at the thought.  
>Sherlock smirked at the last comment about Thomas until he suddenly grimaced again. He seemed to rapidly deflate as the last of his questions were answered. He closed his eyes and was still for a few minutes.<p>

Sherlock ventured to open his eyes again pouting.

"Sherlock…," John said pointedly looking at the bulletproof vest in disbelief, "… you wore it."

"Obviously John." John did not mind the sarcasm; he was too happy they were both alive.

"What was the point in wearing that thing if I am still injured?" Even with a weak voice, Sherlock somehow managed to sound both annoyed and superior.

"**Lack… ****of****… ****death**," John replied slowly, truly smiling now.

Lestrade, convinced Sherlock was okay, returned to securing the scene and retrieving the codes.

"I'm sorry Sherlock but I think another ambulance ride to the hospital is in order." John said as he prepared for a fight.

"There is not **one **reason for …," Sherlock began but was interrupted. He was still able to convey his full outraged with the few words, while barely maintaining a little more than a whisper.

"I'll give you three reasons. First, you were unconscious for a few minutes that would be your second concussion in less than a month and third, no fourth time unconscious. Second, even with the vest, that was a major impact to your chest and you've just healed from broken ribs and minor abdominal surgery, you have quite possibly cracked or fracture a rib again. Third, I'm not sure what happened since the last time I saw you but you're one big bruise."

Sherlock tried to speak but John did not allow the interruption.

"John... "

"I'm not finished Sherlock. At the very least, you'll have a nasty headache and some bruises from the bullet's impact on the vest. Even if we think the best, your ribs are at the very least bruised. I'm **not taking a chance with you**, better safe than sorry." John's expression and crossed arms told Sherlock that there was no bulling his way out an ambulance ride this time.

Sherlock eye narrowed dangerously and he said whispered between gritted teeth, "The next time someone wants to shoot you, **Doctor Watson**, I think I'll let them. Maybe, I even give them a gun, and… **why do you have that ridiculous smile on your face?" **He managed to raise his voice a little.

"Still happy you're alive, Sherlock," John said not hiding his face-splitting grin.

A long-suffering sigh escaped from Sherlock as he held one hand to his head and another hand to his chest, resigned to his fate.

"That was a surprisingly good shot by the way," John said

"I'm a good shot John; you're just so freakishly accurate, it makes the rest of us look incompetent." Sherlock sounded offended.

"Um, thanks… I think." John wondered if it was a compliment or complaint.

A dramatic sigh escaped from Sherlock's lips, this caused another wince.

"Look at the bright side, Sherlock," John ventured.

"That would be," Sherlock said sulkily.

"You've still got me," John pointed out.

"I thought you said the **bright**… side…, John," Sherlock said evenly.

John frowned with a hurt expression.

Sherlock bit his lip, then smiled, then chuckled lightly despite the pain as John joined in.

Everyone turned briefly to stare, then quickly returned to work. Donovan thought Sherlock had finally loss his senses and taken John with him. Lestrade understood that they somehow seemed to find places of comfort in the middle of the greatest of tragedies.

It was their way.

Lestrade smiled, knowing how lucky they were to find one another. Lestrade picked up this phone to make a call, but it rang. He answered, "Yes , Mycroft, he alright,… (Pause)… yes I have the codes…" Lestrade listened and the smile left his face. He looked at Sherlock and turned his back.

Sherlock eyes happen to glance at Lestrade. He noticed his expression and the sudden turn of his back. He looked at John who suddenly stopped smiling as he noticed Sherlock's sudden change in mood. He followed Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock suddenly stopped smiling, he frowned and looked around, "Where's Mycroft?"


	156. Chapter 152

Deleted Memories, Chapter 152

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

To those who are new to reviews, thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, here is more.**

**A/N****:** _Folie à deux_ **means** _Madness of two_

**Love and Teddy bears, Zacha**

* * *

><p><em><strong>"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else<strong>_

_**is more important."**_ -Ambrose Redmoon

* * *

><p>Everyone looked at Lestrade and Sherlock arguing. All present were unsure of what to do. They have never witnessed them arguing, ever. Sherlock was feeling a little stronger and his stubbornness was showing. "I said take me to where Mycroft is!"<p>

John was unusually quiet, thinking. He was torn inside. Sherlock needed a hospital desperately but that was Sherlock's brother and he would feel better if Sherlock, not Butler alone were working on the codes.

"You can't stand straight; you need to go to the hospital. Everyone is fleeing the area, the media leaked that there's a bomb, we're lucky the public doesn't know what **kind** of bomb it is or it would be more panic. We already have three deaths because of panic, it chaos." Lestrade was irate.

"Sherlock, he's right," John said gently even while he knew it was not going to do any good.

"Fine," Sherlock said defiantly. "I'll go myself; I'll take a cab if I have to." He attempted to get up unexpectedly and fell back on his hands and knees. He immediately tried again and was partially up but would have fallen again if John had not been by his side instantly. John put himself under Sherlock's shoulders and grunted as he pushed.

Sherlock bit his lips to hold back a groan. He was fooling no one. He was one big bruise, and streaks of blood were on his body. He was obviously in a lot of pain. His legs were shaking. Still, he managed to produced his most intimidating glare. His glare was not as effective as normal, despite the fact that the collar of his overcoat was turned up. Holmes had demanded his light, black Belstaff wool coat, as soon as he was conscious.

"See what I mean," Lestrade folded his arms now irritation giving place to anger, "You can't even stand. You should be sectioned."

Lestrade looked at John for help. His eyes opened wide in shock, and disbelief, "You can't be serious, John." John said nothing.

"Um, can I borrow someone's car?" John asked as he glanced at the officers and agents in the room.

Donovan walked up quietly, "If you're sure, you can take mine." She said looking at Sherlock and smiling. Sherlock although surprised nodded his thanks. John looked at the two wondering what had taken place between them; something was different, something had changed.

"Not you too, Donovan." Donovan shrugged and looked down suddenly. "Seems we're wasting time Sir, we could be driving." She was still looking down.

"We? I change my mind all three of you should be sectioned."

"What is this that _Folie à deux_ crap, group insanity?" Lestrade put his hands to his face and sighed, "Brooks, you're in charge. Anderson should be here soon." Lestrade shook his head, "I change my mind again, all four of us should be committed."

"Actually Lestrade, it's more accurate to say that Folie à deux means…" Sherlock at the look in Lestrade's eyes frowned and shut up.

Lestrade gave up. "Let start walking." Lestrade talked as they made their way down. "If the lift is working, for Mr. Holmes benefit, I think we've better use it."

Sherlock had enough sense to let him fuss and kept his mouth closed as he made his way with John helping. Half way through, Donovan came up quietly and put her body under the other shoulder lifting. She wordlessly put one hand on Sherlock's chest to balance him. They both looked at her. She shrugged slightly and said nothing.

Within a short time, they were speeding down the highway and approaching the off ramp. It had been an incredibly fast journey. All the traffic was jammed going in the opposite direction except for a few random emergency vehicles. No one was traveling in their direction.

As they approached the block, Lestrade warned, "Sherlock, I'm helping you. No running…" Lestrade looked over Sherlock, "In your case, no crawling in there to rescue Mycroft. Use your mind; let someone else do the legwork."

Sherlock said nothing.

* * *

><p>AN: To be sectioned is to be committed to an inpatient psychiatric hospital.


	157. Chapter 153

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 153

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

To those who are new to reviews, thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, here is more.**

**A/N****:** _Folie à deux_ **means** _Madness of two_

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>I felt despair. Though it seems to me now there's two kinds of it: the sort that <strong>_

_**causes a person to surrender and then the sort I had which made me take risks **_

_**and make plans.**_" ~ Erica Eisdorfer, The Wet Nurse's Tale, 2009

* * *

><p>They pulled up and parked quickly. They exited as Lestrade helped Sherlock. When Lestrade realized that, his brilliant plan to have Sherlock collapse so that the emergency personnel could take him to the hospital would not work. He changed places with John. Lestrade had underestimated the younger Holmes sheer will, and stubbornness of spirit. John was looking tired but still not complaining. Lestrade was helping now so that John could rest. Donovan eyed John and walked beside him, keeping an eye on him.<p>

No one was there but emergency personnel, agents, and one insane but determined television crew. They at least were kept a block away. Everyone else had enough sense to leave.

An agent ran up and gave Sherlock an earphone. Sherlock held it to his right ear.

"Sherlock Holmes… what do you … think you're doing." Mycroft was not happy. Sherlock did not bother to ask him how he knew he was there.

"Lestrade said you were hurt. Lestrade is supposed to take … you to… hospital." Mycroft took a little longer than normal to finish a sentence.

"Lestrade was overreacting. I just had the wind knocked out of me so to speak, I'm fine." Everyone looked at Sherlock with raised eyebrows. He ignored them.

Mycroft muttered under his breath about his stubborn brother.

"I can still hear you Mycroft. These are very clear headpieces." He held the earphone to his ear as John helped him put it in.

"Only the best… Sherlock." Mycroft voice paused for a bit.

"Hard day at the office, Mycroft?" Sherlock frowned but was careful to keep his voice casual. He bit his lips when he did not hear anything. He did not ask Mycroft if he was hurt. There was no need. He frowned and was about to repeat himself but decided to give Mycroft another second or two.

There was a pause then Mycroft finally spoke.

"A bit."

"Did they program the code in yet?" Sherlock asked, determined to stop the bomb.

Determined to get Mycroft help as soon as possible.

"It's in the phone… we are getting ready to hit send now." Mycroft had a short conversation with someone but Sherlock could not make out what was said.

"Mycroft, something about the code is bothering me, something Ayyad said. I need to see the bomb and the site." Sherlock eyed the doors but knew entering would trigger the bomb until it was deactivated.

"I knew you would… look to your right." Another agent came with a computer. It had a video link to the room with the bomb. He handed it wordlessly to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked around, finding nowhere to sit he looked at John. "Help him down, Lestrade." John said as he looked into his eyes.

Lestrade helped Sherlock slide to the ground. He thinned his lips in discomfort. He took a few seconds to breath through the pain. He had one leg straight, the other bent to hold the laptop and to keep it from sliding. John sat beside him, he looked at him with concern. He nodded at John to reassure him, then turned his attention away from the group. Lestrade bent down and Donovan knelt.

"How long?" Sherlock asked.

"Twelve minutes… Sherlock." Sherlock closed his eyes briefly.

"They're getting ready to hit send now…" Mycroft started to say.

"**WAIT"** Sherlock said, "Give me a minute." Sherlock could hear the bomb expert take up the phone. He started arguing at Sherlock. Sherlock wordlessly took out the earphone and gave it to John as he went into his mind.

John took the earphone and frowned as he heard the irate man argue. He recognized the voice immediately. It was Butler. John lost patience as he spoke between gritted teeth. "Shut up and listen Butler. He will be with you shortly!"

Sherlock hands moved as his mind took apart and put back together the codes and symbols.

He frowned, something still seemed … wrong.

"**It's seven minutes**!" Butler, who was quiet for a moment, started speaking again with a raised voice.

"Sherlock will be with you momentarily," John said as he bit his lower lip but did not allow anyone to interrupt Sherlock.

Everyone, including the agent's, eyes were on Sherlock. He never noticed.

* * *

><p><em>Sherlock's mind worked furiously<em>**_._**

"What did he say?" Sherlock asked himself in his mind.

"It will not do you any good, Mr. Holmes unless I have some sort of sign that you surrender…"

"It will not do you any good, Mr. Holmes unless I have some sort of **sign that you surrender**…"

"Sign that you surrender…"

**"Sign** that you **surrender**…"

**"Symbols** that you **give up…" **

"Take away the symbols**."**

* * *

><p>Five minutes were left.<p>

Sherlock eyes flew open, as he grabbed the earphone. "Take away all the symbols keep the letters and numbers." The expert started to argue about how there are always symbols in bomb codes. Sherlock lost all patience.

"I understand that you're nervous, but my brother is in there, I am directly outside. If you blow up so do I. I promise to allow you to say I told you so if that happens. Now correct the code… and... **Push! Send!**"

He heard Mycroft's weak voice in the background telling the expert to do as Sherlock said. He watched the man over the laptop screen as he adjusted the codes and double-checked himself.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade and Donovan then John. John nodded as he put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock forced a smiled. Mycroft's voice came on the earphone line again as Sherlock held it to his ear. "Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned at how weak he sounded. "Mycroft, stay awake… okay." Sherlock hated the fact that his voice broke a little.

"I'll try… my upmost…, see you soon."

* * *

><p>The bomb expert, Butler looked at the timer, three minutes to go, he stood within a yard and sent up a silent prayer as he licked his dry lips. He thought of his wife and child, as he took a breath and with a shaky hand, hit send.<p> 


	158. Chapter 154

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 154

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

To those who are new to reviews, thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, here is more.**

**A/N****:** _Folie à deux_ **means** _Madness of two_

**Love and Teddy bears, Zacha**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Everyone has his day and some days last longer than others."<strong>_ ~ Winston Churchill

* * *

><p>Mycroft opened his eyes to see Sherlock walking beside the trolley. Apparently, someone put IV fluids in his arm. There was a tube coming from his right arm and one of the workers walked elevating the fluids as he followed the trolley. John was on the other side of the stretcher. John's hand that was touching the edge had blood on it.<p>

Mycroft frowned.

He could not remember much after talking to Sherlock and having Butler tell him that the timer stopped. He blinked and looked up as his eyes focused. Sherlock was walking beside him and he felt pressure on his hand. He glanced down and noticed that Sherlock was holding his hand. Sherlock looked embarrassed that he had been caught. He however did not let go of Mycroft's hand. Embarrassed or not, he did not intend to let go.

Mycroft rolled his eyes best he could, "Don't tell me that I …" Mycroft could not bring himself to say the word, faint.

"Yes." Sherlock, normally would have taken the opportunity to torture him, but instead was unusually quiet.

"Sir." The emergency personnel said. Sherlock reluctantly let go of his brother's hand.

They lifted Mycroft to put him in the ambulance. John and one emergency worker lifted Sherlock inside as he sat opposite Mycroft's trolley. The emergency personnel were busy with medications, attaching blood pressure cuffs, and heart monitors. The gentle rhythmic rock of the vehicle and the wail of the sirens indicated that they were moving and had pulled onto the road. Mycroft's agents drove before the ambulance and behind.

Sherlock took Mycroft's hand back into his as he looked past Mycroft deep in thought. Sherlock did not argue when they put the hated orange shock blanket over both him and John. Mycroft tried to focus as he looked over John and Sherlock. John looked exhausted and beat up, but there were no outward signs of torture, he had feared the worse and sighed with relief.

He then looked at Sherlock and frowned. Sherlock looked like he should be laying down on his own trolley. Mycroft's eyes were heavy he was trying with great effort to stay awake. "We're a pair." Mycroft managed in a sleepy voice as he raised his eyebrows in an attempted to force his eyes to stay open.

"You scared me," Sherlock said as he still looked past him and stared at the wall of the ambulance.

Mycroft looked into Sherlock's eyes and frowned, "Sorry," he said without hesitation.

Sherlock looked him in the eyes now as the brothers said many things to each other wordlessly.

"You're tired, go to sleep, I'll fuss at you later. I'll watch now and make sure that you're okay, at least until we get to the hospital. At that point, I'm afraid I'll most likely become unconscious."

"M… Make sure someone is behind to catch, Sherlock." Mycroft barely managed before his eyes closed. If Mycroft was more alert he might have analyzed the irony of the role reversal between him and his brother. However, in his sleepy mind the only thing that he knew was that he felt safe with Sherlock watching over him. Because of this, he stopped fighting the pull of sleep and embraced it.

Sherlock watched Mycroft closely. John and the emergency personnel watched Sherlock closely. Everyone but John was surprised that he stayed conscious as he watched his brother. At least until they walked through the doors of the hospital. At that point, Sherlock did as he once predicted he would do, when he knew Mycroft was safe.

He fainted.

* * *

><p>* Tell me what you think? There is more.<p>

Love to All, Zacha


	159. Chapter 155

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 155

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

***Special thanks to****: ****orangejuicedrink****, ****Esstell, ****SB, ****LadyRavena, ****danishprince****, LogicandWonderland, ****kyoshizero****, Sherlock and supernatural mad, ****Peacefreakx3, ****princessangelwings****, SWBloodwolf, ****tmmk****, CSweetPR, ****furryface****, ****eohippus****, ****christistina****, Obsessive freak, Prothoe, Mitaya****,madscientistsuz****, ****socalrose****, ****briongloid****fiodoir****, Queen ****morgan**** la fay, hjohn302 , Cainchan, ****Ju**** Lara, for your recent post**.*

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. Cyber Tea **_**and**_** Cookies.**

**** Here is more. A special surprise at the end.**

**A/N****:** A few post left.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Our sorrows and wounds are healed only when we touch them with compassion." <strong>__Buddha_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day - Day One in the Hospital.<strong>_

Thomas opened his eyes slowly. Disjoined images merged and pieced themselves together. He frowned as he saw a face looking at him. He tried to speak but the cotton in his throat prevented him and he coughed. At least it felt like someone had stuffed cotton down his throat.

He heard a grunt coming from the chair beside his bed and within a minute, a shaky hand helped him to drink some water. He looked at his left leg that was elevated in a cast and then he looked at the man sitting in the chair next to him.

"Mr. Holmes," he looked him up and down and smile sleepily, "Alive I see."

"Your deductive skills are in top form, Thomas," Sherlock said with raised eyebrows; his voice held no hint of mockery however.

Thomas closed his eyes briefly then opened them thinking. "Doctor Watson?"

"A little beat up, but he's okay. Better than the rest of us apparently. He's getting intravenous fluids. He's not happy about the fact." Sherlock smirked at the idea of John not wanting medical treatment. His mind wondered briefly as he considered how the universe had finally shifted in his favors.

"Was I hallucinating or did I hear that Mycroft Holmes was injured?" Thomas asked unsure of the memory.

Sherlock mood changed dramatically. "Yes, but he is ok. I kept sneaking into recovery. The staff threatened me. Mycroft opened his eyes long enough to order them to leave me alone. He then ordered them to transfer him to my room. They finally agreed to the transfer. They're in the process of moving him now." Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper now.

Mycroft had really scared him. He vaguely wondered if that was how Mycroft felt when he was the one in the hospital bed and Mycroft was staring down.

Thomas took in Sherlock battered appearance and sunken eyes; he wondered how he was even upright much less running around the hospital with an IV pole and tubes hanging from his arm. He knew Holmes; at least he had not taken the IV out of his vein yet. Mr. Holmes had his own dressing gown from home. They had not needed to use the short gown trick this time to keep him in the hospital. Thomas knew he would not leave as long as Mycroft Holmes was a patient.

Thomas sighed.

"How did you get out of your room, there should be guards on both you and Mycroft?" Thomas wondered out loud.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and gave him the _don't be an idiot_ look.

Thomas partially raised his hands in surrender.

Thomas smiled as he folded his arms, "You came to check on me."

"Don't be ridiculous, I was simply passing your room and was bored."

Thomas frowned, "Oh, am I next door to your room or something?"

"Close," Sherlock looked around suddenly. His hands played with the edge of his dressing gown.

"How close," Thomas was suddenly suspicious.

Sherlock cleared his throat before answering. "A floor or two, maybe four," he said waving his hands dismissively.

Thomas started to smile again.

Sherlock sighed at Thomas' smile before asking. "So, how are you feeling?"

Thomas eyes were getting heavy now. "I feel no pain, Mr. Holmes, whatever they have me on is the goooood stuff."

"I'll better be getting back now; you need to sleep. By the way, I'll speak to the security detail; it only makes sense that you're transferred closer to where we are. Four floors away is ridiculous."

"Four f… floor, huh." Thomas smirked as he started to slur.

"Shut up," Sherlock commented as he struggled to get upright. He held on to the IV pole and used it to steady himself. He waited a few second for the dizziness to pass and then slowly, gingerly he made his way to the door.

"Can you make it?" A sleepy Thomas asked concerned.

"Don't I always." Sherlock called over his shoulder as he made his way to the door.

He glanced at the door and smirked, "Mycroft should have reached the room by now. Mycroft will be furious that I am not there, right before he passes out again, of course." Sherlock reached the doorway. With his back still to the door, he added as he turned his head only, "Thank you, Thomas." Sherlock looked him in the eyes.

Thomas looked back smiled and nodded as he watched Holmes disappear down the hall.

As the pull of darkness claimed him, he smiled as he thought about how the pain medication was even better than he thought, because he believed he just heard Sherlock Holmes say, thank you.


	160. Chapter 156

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 156

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

***Special thanks to****: ****orangejuicedrink****, ****Esstell, ****SB, ****LadyRavena, ****danishprince****, LogicandWonderland, ****kyoshizero****, Sherlock and supernatural mad, ****Peacefreakx3, ****princessangelwings****, SWBloodwolf, ****tmmk****, CSweetPR, ****furryface****, ****eohippus****, ****christistina****, Obsessive freak, Prothoe, Mitaya****,madscientistsuz****, ****socalrose****, ****briongloid****fiodoir****, Queen ****morgan**** la fay, hjohn302 , Cainchan, ****Ju**** Lara, for your recent post**.*

Thank you to those of you who just started to read and post, welcome.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, and leave detailed post, I appreciate you. Cyber Tea **_**and**_** Cookies.**

**** Here is more. A special surprise at the end.**

**A/N****:** A few post left.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Boredom is the deadliest poison."~ <strong>_WILLIAM F. BUCKLEY, JR., _Milestones_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day - Undisclosed Location<strong>_

He sat in his plush red striped wing chair. He looked out the window of his mansion as he sipped slowly on his private stock of red wine. This mansion was his favorite. It was secluded with only a few people who knew of its existence and it was located on isolated acres of land. He made sure that it was not easily accessible.

A drop of wine spilled on his gray Westwood suit. It would leave a stain, he ignored it.

Money had not been a concern for years. Even though a large portion was confiscated, he had countless amounts in reserve that no one, not even his top men knew about. It was scattered in various banks around the world. He had more money than he could possibly spend in a two lifetime.

He looked at the dark liquid. He was lost, deep in thought as the setting sun reflected off the crystal and bounced onto the beamed ceiling. He did not see all the beauty around him or through the windows. He rarely appreciated it. Things were just things to him. He had been so bored lately. Without his favorite opponent, it had been dreadfully dull.

He sighed heavily.

He heard the heavy footsteps as it hit on the beautiful mahogany wood floor. The man walked up to him and stood just behind him. Another set of feet came. This time the tap of high heel shoes was heard. Her steps passed the heaver steps and came to stop beside him.

"**Well speak**!" He suddenly yelled as he simultaneously rolled his eyes.

"Sir, the death of Ayyad has been confirmed. All but one of his generals has been killed or are in custody."

"You did it Sherlock." He giggled a funny sort of high-pitched sound that did not belong in a human body much less a man. "If you were here I would kiss you, you may even enjoy it," he said gleefully.

"Well," his mood suddenly improved as he thought about what to do next.

Looking up at the woman he said, "I'll see you later." His fingers traced the edge of her skirt. He looked over to the guard and added, "And bring a friend."

They both left knowing when they were being dismissed.

He smiled wickedly as he thought of his next move in his mental game of chest."Check," he whispered to the air.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Boredom can be a lethal thing on a small island."~<strong>_ CHRISTOPHER MOORE, _Island of the Sequined Love Nun_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day - Day Three in the Hospital.<strong>_

Mycroft sat up in the hospital bed as Sherlock yelled at his brother.

John sat in the hard plastic chair between the two men. The sympathetic staff had even rolled an extra bed in the room for him to sleep on at night. They released John after three hours of IV fluids and treatment the first day. John had refused to be kept any longer than necessary to be stitched up and receive the quick five-hundred milliliter of intravenous fluid they insisted that he needed.

Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Anthea have come in and out regularly. John would allow no one else. An unapologetic John closely scrutinized all medical staff. Anthea made sure that the agents followed John's request in her absence until Mycroft regained consciousness. Mrs. Hudson made sure that John did not starve and had fresh clothes.

The confirmation of how necessary it was for him to be there in that room, was in the beds on his left hand and on his right. He sat in that chair a few hours into the first day after his release and after Sherlock was found nearly faint a few floors away. His guard amazingly had not even realized that Sherlock was not in his room. Ever since then, John had not left for a second.

He has been in the chair.

In their room.

In hell.

Someone had to make sure the two brothers did not kill each other.

"… I can't believe that you just walked in there, a… a building with a BOMB in it!" Sherlock was not happy.

Mycroft sighed long-sufferingly, "Sherlock it was perfectly logical. If I did not go in they would have detonated the bomb immediately, my actions bought everyone involved time and distracted them from you." Mycroft sounded tired.

"Besides Sherlock you would have done the same thing. Was it not you who ran along to a group of terrorist by yourself to save John?"

"That's… that's different! You're supposed to be the level headed one, the government behind the British bloody government." Sherlock stopped suddenly and glared at his brother. "I forbid you from ever doing that again!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow to stress his point and show his seriousness.

"Stop swearing Sherlock, it's beneath someone of your intelligence." Mycroft calmly scolded his little brother.

Sherlock smiled sweetly. "Of course Mycroft! Sorry, I better damn well stop the use of such bloody bad language. Hell of a thought dear brother!"

John shook his head. Sherlock was sometimes reduced a five year old around his brother. As John thought further, Sherlock without his brother was sometimes reduced to a five year old.

Mycroft eyes narrowed as he lost patience for the first time. He spoke in French saying something to Sherlock.

Sherlock eyes widened and he gasped, "I thought you said to watch the language!"

Sherlock then responded back in French so they started arguing again, this time in French.

John rolled his eyes as he got up. He had to find their doctor and sweet talk two discharges out of him. If not John concluded he would give them both something in their IV's to knock them **both** out.

John stopped outside the room at the security detail.

"No one gets in that room, I don't care who it is, not until I'm back. **No one**!" John waited for an answer.

"Yes, Sir." The agent said looking up from his chair. "And don't let him sneak pass you this time," John threw over his shoulder while walking away.

"Um… Yes, Sir," came the slightly embarrassed response.

John marched off determined while muttering under his breath to himself about sectioning them both.


	161. Chapter 157

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 157

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, there is more.**

Part I

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>But ne'er the rose without the thorn."<strong>_ ~Robert Herrick

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

It had been quiet, too quiet. Sherlock was bored, even worse than bored.

The past two days that they stayed at the Holmes family mansion was tolerable, there had been Mycroft to torment. Still, despite being dull, he was glad to be back at 221B. However, he was restricted to bed-rest for four more days and he… was… bored!

He would be dead in four days from … boredom!

Worse, not only was he bored, he was in mourning.

He no longer had his favorite coat. The soft, light, black Belstaff wool coat, with the pleats in the back, two side pockets that fit his hands perfectly, **and** the most perfect collar that reached the perfect length to accentuate his cheekbones.

It even made a perfect little swishing sound during movement.

His coat reminded him of a cartoon superhero cape when he ran after a suspect. In it, he was superman.

As quiet as it was kept, he was also fond of the red stitch detail on one of the front lapels.

That coat was as much a part of Sherlock as his violin.

Now it was gone and he mourned for it.

Sherlock mourned the same way one would mourn for a friend, if that very good friend were suddenly to die.

His coat had always kept him warm, even on the chilliest of London nights. Sherlock had deep affections for that coat, and now it was departed.

Worse, Sherlock was not only confined to the couch for four more days because, of the latest injuries, **but also **banned from doing experiments.

All because of the unfortunate event cause by him running out of room in their refrigerator, so of course, Sherlock had **naturally** needed to use Mrs. Hudson's refrigerator.

Why did no one seem to understand that pure logical fact?

Sherlock sighed.

Consequently, here he was dressed in a tee shirt, pajama pants, and his dressing gown thinking of his beloved coat. Worse of all, it was all because of some lunatic that his coat was gone.

Sherlock sighed louder.

"You okay Sherlock," John asked while sitting trying to read the morning paper.

"Fine John."

Sherlock sighed again more dramatically this time.

_Silence_

"John."

"Yes Sherlock."

"My coat is dead."

"Sherlock a coat can't actually be dead, it was never alive," John tried to reason.

_Sigh_

_Silence_

"But, John, it had a hole in it," Sherlock whispered sadly.

"Actually, it was **two** holes. I know Sherlock." John turns the page of his paper.

"John."

"Yes Sherlock," John reply slightly annoyed.

"I loved that coat," Sherlock whispered almost childlike while sniffling, "I liked the swishing sound when I walked and I liked to put up the collar." The last few words were whispered like a guilty pleasure.

John wondered if Sherlock was trying to be purposefully annoying.

John looked around his paper at Sherlock.

One look at Sherlock's face gave John all the information he needed. John's face softened.

Sherlock sniffled again then grimaced as he turned on his back now staring mournfully at the ceiling.

Sherlock looked almost… childlike, innocent.

John swallowed hard and felt guilty for being annoyed. It had been hard for Sherlock. Dealing with "feelings"; dealing with emotional and physical pain. The man had gone through major physical and mental trauma. In addition, the man did save his life.

Now that he thought about it, his life was not the only one Sherlock saved.

John got up and reached for his coat.

"Um, Sherlock, popping out for a minute, Mrs. Hudson is downstairs, I'll ask her to come up and stay with you. Mycroft has a car outside. I'll be gone for just an hour."

"John."

"Yes Sherlock. "

"Where're you going?" Sherlock asked turning his head toward John.

"Never mind." John was no longer annoyed.

Sherlock sniffed again.

"Back in a sec," John said as he descended the stairs. He was heard having a brief conversation with Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock looked at John's retreating form.

If there were such things as saints, surely, John had to be one, Sherlock thought while sighing.

Sherlock melted into the sofa.


	162. Chapter 158

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 158

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

Part II

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>But ne'er the rose without the thorn<strong>_." ~Robert Herrick

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day<strong>_

Sherlock sighed again and looked at his watch.

"Emotions are so easily manipulated," Sherlock whispered to himself. "Experiment complete."

With a taxicab at this time of the day, taking walking time into account, and Johns "get the job done" nature; it would still be closer to an hour and twenty-five minute, give or take five minutes.

Last time the store was called, there were only two coats in Sherlock's size and one coat should have been put up for John by a clerk who owed Sherlock a favor.

Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt. He never felt much emotion at all before John, much less such an inconvenient emotion as guilt. At least he never acknowledged them.

Sherlock frowned slightly from pain as he squirmed on the couch.

Maybe he had produced a sniffle or two, however everything he said was sincere, Sherlock reasoned. Sherlock justified himself with the fact that, he had not lied once, and in fact was planning to tell John the whole truth.

**After, **John gave him his coat, of course.

Well, John would be angry but forgive him. Of course, he would have to be very "Un-Sherlock like" for three days with this level of offense.

Sherlock squirmed more.

Well, what did they expect, he was bored. Not bored, **bored to tears**!

It was this little experiment, or the walls, and John locked his gun up anyway after the last _incident._

A thought suddenly occurred to Sherlock.

Sherlock briefly wondered which combination John changed the gun-safe to. No matter, he would figure it out; John was if nothing else, predictable.

Sherlock suddenly dismissed the thought.

Sherlock wondered if he should confess to John while he limped bringing him coffee in the morning, no sugar this time. Maybe if he held his ribs, John would not actually kill him.

It did really hurt. In fact, his whole body hurt.

"Yoo-hoo, I'll be right up with some food and tea dear," Mrs. Hudson's voice traveled up the stairs.

As Sherlock closed his eyes, suddenly tired, he felt… what, happy?

Yes, Sherlock thought, he was happy. Sherlock use to not feel. Now he felt, and was feeling happy to know he had a family. Mycroft was family connected by blood. Other members like Mrs. Hudson and others were family connected by something else, something just as strong if not stronger. It was something of the heart.

Above all, Sherlock was glad to have a friend like John.

Of course, he would never confess this out loud. He had a reputation to consider.

Well, **maybe** he would tell John. Sherlock thought for a moment. Of course, he would tell John.

Yes, Sherlock decided as he stifled a yawn feeling suddenly tired with closing eyes, John was a saint.

* * *

><p>John walked outside and hailed a taxi. He was glad that despite everything Sherlock was doing better and getting more back to himself every day. A taxi came up and John climbed effortlessly into the back seat. He called off an address and sat back searching the internet on his phone as the cab gently bumped and rocked while driven.<p>

Sherlock was trying so hard to get him to the store; John did not have the heart to tell Sherlock that he had already gotten him the coat, and had hidden it in Mrs. Hudson's flat.

John would have to pretend to be angry of course. That should give him two or three days of good behavior from Sherlock. Well, as good as Sherlock's behavior ever became.

Knowing Sherlock, he had calculated the speed, wind projection, or some such nonsense to figure out how long it would take him to get the coat, John mused as he smiled.

John supposed that he had an hour and a half. He would need to occupy himself in the mean time. Sherlock was if nothing else, predictable.

John put his phone to his ear as his other hand rested in his coat pocket, "Hello, Mary…"

* * *

><p>***Sherlock's Back! Be warned all of mankind! ***<p>

A/N: I heard Sherlock and John having his conversation in my imagination. I could not get this one out of my head so I am afraid you get to suffer. I hope it was ok.

Tell me what you think.


	163. Chapter 159

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 159

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, there is more.**

A/N: Penny was in the room, it was time for the penny to drop. Usually refers to a secret being revealed.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Only your real friends tell you when your face is dirty<strong>_."~ Sicilian Proverb

* * *

><p><em><strong>Three and a half Weeks Later<strong>_

_**Present Day**_

Sherlock walked in the door sulking. He had only one visit left. Well it was not his fault. She was practically **begging** him to make a deduction. Moreover, it was not fair that Mycroft demanded that he start all over again because of the last… _incident _with Ayyad!

Sherlock considered the fact that he could argue that point with Mycroft.

Three weeks of twice-weekly sessions…, wasted.

He sighed.

Sherlock closed the door as he took two steps at a time.

He froze.

Was that John moaning?

His heart started racing. He now wished that he had John's gun. He slowly made his way to John's bedroom door and put his hand on the knob prepared to break in the door and save John, when John moaned again.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose.

It suddenly occurred to him that John's moaning was not a result of pain. He heard another moan, not John's, Sherlock noted.

This was a development.

Did John not yet realize that the walls were notoriously thin Sherlock wondered. He frowned and filed the information away for future reference. He was not sure why.

Sherlock smiled, as he thought of seven, no eight ways to torment John with this little piece of information.

Sherlock smirked and did something unusual. He decided to make tea. He was suddenly in a mood for Earl Gray.

* * *

><p>John and Mary walked in to find Sherlock sitting in his chair calmly sipping on John's Earl Gray tea.<p>

"John, Ms. Myers." Sherlock greeted with a small smile.

"Sherlock I thought you were supposed to have an extra long session today?"

"It was cancelled midway through. It must have been something I said." Sherlock soured slightly then brightened again at the look of discomfort on John's face.

"Um… Mary was just dropping off … a file from Mycroft." John thought he would at least try.

John did not notice his left foot tapping.

Sherlock looked John and Mary up and down taking in their appearance. John's hair was sticking up in some places. Mary's long hair was down and slightly messy. It was normally kept in a neat ponytail. Both were a little disheveled. Both had skin that was flushed, lips that were swollen. His eyes stopped at John and he smirked.

There was a tense moment of silence where Sherlock simply looked at John, who at this point, tapped his foot nervously as he waited.

Sherlock slowly took a sip of tea.

Sherlock cleared his throat loudly as he caught John's eyes. He then pointedly looked at John's lower body then up to his eyes again. John frowned looked down then cursed.

The sound of a zipper being pulled up was heard in the room.

Sherlock decided that since the penny was in the room, it was time for the penny to drop.

"Tea John? Oh, I'm sorry Ms. Myers how rude of me. I assumed from the sounds coming from John's bedroom that you're already quite full."

"Wait Sherlock, you have no bloody right…," John stopped his rant suddenly and changed the subject, "… wait, you knew her name. You **never** remember their names."

Sherlock eyes widened at John as he coughed and then shook "**no**" once with his head, while still looking at John.

John frowned at Sherlock then pinched the bridge of his nose as he realized how it must have sounded to Mary.

Sherlock took another sip and waited for the fireworks to begin. He briefly wondered if he should have gotten one of Mrs. Hudson's biscuits.

John turned to Mary flustered. "Mary, what I meant to say…" one of her fingers was put on John's lips to stop him from speaking.

Sherlock interrupted suddenly feeling sorry for John.

He meant to help John, but Sherlock's social skills being what they were, caused him to only make things worse.

"Come, come Ms. Myers, I am sure John meant nothing by it. I have deduced that it's a good possibility that he cares for you more the innumerable amount of women that flows through this flat. Come, sit, and share a cup of tea with John. I'm sure you won't mind sharing since you've obviously shared bodily fluids, some possibly orally."

Sherlock held out a teacup in a gesture of peace and good will.

Mary took out her gun.

John intervened, "**Now Mary**…"

She put the gun on the table, smiled at John then explained, "Too much temptation."

John nodded his understanding.

Sherlock looked relieved when Mary put the gun down; for a moment, Sherlock thought that this time he had gone too far.

He could never really tell.

Mary walked up to Sherlock and put one hand on his chair leaning so close that their lips were practically touching. Sherlock frowned and leaned back until his head hit the back of the chair. She simply adjusted and leaned back as well.

She then took the tea from the hand of a stunned Sherlock Holmes. She took a sip staying in his face and then put her mouth next to his ear as she moaned.

It was not unlike what he had heard earlier a part of Sherlock's brain realized. Her lips _accidentally_ brushed the back of his ear near the neck where the artery was located. She moaned again. Sherlock's eyes involuntarily closed. He heard another low moan in reply.

His eyes shot open in horror as he realized that his body had betrayed him and the moan was coming from him.

As he looked into her eyes, there was a smirk. She now leaned back a little and used one finger to close his mouth.

"Better close those beautiful lips of yours Mr. Holmes, no telling what might wiggle its way inside.

Sherlock glared at her as he tried to regain some composure. She put one of her hands on his thigh, he stuttered indignantly. "**Do**… **You**… **Mind**!"

She looked down lingering then up smirking. "So… you are playing on our team after all, what a surprise. Or do you switch teams every now and then?"

"By the way, your tea was a little cooler than I'm used to. I like it hot."

She then straightened up and walked to a very stunned John who still had his mouth partially open.

She took advantage and kissed him briefly as she retrieved her gun.

Mary then walked out of the door confidently without turning back.

There was a stunned silence for a few minutes.

"Um," Sherlock frowned and finally said.

"Yeah," John replied still shocked.

_Brief Silence_

Sherlock raised his eyebrows before asking.

"Tea?"

"Oh yeah, thanks," John walked over and sat down next to Sherlock.

As Sherlock was about to take a sip he frowned and exchanged tea cups with John.

At John's questioning glance, Sherlock explained. "Your _special_ friend, your teacup."

"Oh," was John's simple answer. He did not argue only took the cup.

"So your little experiment backfired did it?" John took a sip.

_Brief silence _

_Sip_

"A bit." Sherlock admitted.

_Sip_

"Lost the bet with Mycroft?" John already guessed the answer.

"Yes." Sherlock's face turned sour again.

"A shame, a shame, you were so close this time." John briefly wondered if Mrs. Hudson made biscuits.

_Silence_

_Sip_

_Silence_

John frowned and took a sip before speaking.

"Sherlock… did I really just hear you moan?"

"John, you are free to make your own deductions," Sherlock replied calmly

John mouth formed a silent "Oh."

John looked Sherlock up and down, frowned, and then opened his mouth to ask another question.

"Sherlock…, um, did you have an…"

"Shut up John," Sherlock cleared his throat then continued to drink his tea.

"I mean," John continued, "It's perfectly natural. I'm a doctor; it's nothing to get embarrassed about…"

"What part of shut and up, spoken in a fragmented sentence do you not understand, John?" Sherlock replied with a glare directed at his friend.

"Alright, alright; just trying to be helpful," John, replied smirking.

They both resumed drinking their tea.

Both men sat in silence as they stared occasionally at the door. Sherlock with curiosity, John with a smile.

"Sherlock you never said why you chose to remember her name." John was curious.

"Something told me that with this one, I needed to." Sherlock replied simply shrugging.

John was thoughtful for a moment. Then he nodded.

"So, crap telly?" John asked looking at Sherlock. Sherlock considered for a minute.

"I think Jeremy Kyle is soon on. I know how much you like to yell at him."

Sherlock nodded and smiled.

* * *

><p>AN: A little different, I hope you enjoyed. We are very near now. Tell me your thoughts.

Lots of Love to all.

Zacha


	164. Chapter 160

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 160

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, there is more.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Hear no evil, speak no evil - and you'll never be invited to a party<strong>__**"**_ ~Oscar Wilde quotes

* * *

><p><em><strong>Two Weeks Later<strong>_

_**Present Day**_

John hung up the phone. Mycroft made all the arrangements and was checking in to make sure that everything was going according to plan. John looked at his suit in the mirror. Sherlock came behind and did the same. John felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Sherlock wore a pout on his face as he walked.

John looked at Sherlock and sighed. "Sherlock it won't be that bad."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to pout. "I do not like the media John. It's not your face that was spread across the papers and television declaring you a phony over a year ago now was it." Sherlock folded his arms and considered backing out of the entire thing.

"Mycroft said that it's necessary. You can't hide the fact that a bomb almost exploded taking half of London with it, Sherlock. The TV crew saw you at the site on the laptop." John tried to be reasonable.

"All of us were there, why is it my face that they had to zoom in on?" Sherlock was irritable now and pacing.

"Why can't Mycroft's office take credit? He did get shot holding them back?" His hands now made dramatic gestures while pacing.

"You already know the answer to that Sherlock, Mycroft has to keep a low profile. Besides, it **was** you who got the code for the bomb and stopped the wrong code from being entered."

Sherlock suddenly smiled, "You can take credit along with Lestrade," Sherlock said pleased with himself as he turned to go back to his room.

"**Stop**! **Sherlock Holmes**, stop acting like an infant. Lestrade refused to take credit unless you took it also, you know that!" John raised his voice. He then pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and spoke in a calmer voice. "It will be fast, I promise. Just don't say anything stupid." John frowned. "Maybe it would be best if I spoke and you just smiled, and not your constipated smile either, Sherlock."

Sherlock said nothing but looked offended as he waited tapping his foot with a scowl on his face. John rolled his eyes as he turned to Mrs. Hudson who was coming up the stairs to the flat.

"Mycroft's car is here dears. Oh don't the two of you look handsome. My heroes." Mrs. Hudson looked at both men as she made a fuss over them.

She kissed John who smiled ear-to-ear then Sherlock who smile slightly when he was kissed despite still being annoyed.

"Sorry, the media is out front," Mrs. Hudson said apologetically with her hand still on Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock huffed as he turned his face to John and gave him his best _see I told you so_ looked.

John was already at the window looking. He frowned and looked at Sherlock. "It'll be fine." He looked at the car.

"Let's go. Lestrade was right to send some officers. They're holding the crowd back." He looked at Sherlock reassuringly.

"Well then, we'd better be off." John forced a smiled for Sherlock's sake as he walked down the stairs; he knew that Sherlock would follow.

Sherlock did follow and stopped behind him. "Ready?"

Sherlock gave a slight shrug. John knew that, that was as close to a yes as he was going to get. He squeezed Sherlock's arm and opened the door leading the way.

"Excuse us; Excuse us," John said as he pushed his way through the crowd. He glanced back to make sure that Sherlock was close behind. The police held the enthusiastic crowd and reporters back.

They both slide into the back seat side-by-side. Sherlock looked at John as he said, "Is this Mycroft's idea of, and I do quote, _toning things down_?" John said nothing but smiled at Sherlock reassuringly. He then looked out the window.

The day could not end fast enough for him.


	165. Chapter 161

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 161

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, there is more.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Character isn't something you were born with and can't change, like your<strong>_

_**fingerprints. It's something you weren't born with and must take responsibility **_

_**for forming." ~ **__Jim Rohn_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Two Weeks Later<strong>_

_**Present Day**_

Sherlock groaned inwardly as he put yet another Deerstalker hat on his head. He was told that it was a gift from the department again with Sergeant Sally Donovan picking it out. The brown checker patterned hat was on top of his head at the insistence of the press.

Sherlock looked at Sally Donovan who was in the corner smiling from ear-to-ear. Sherlock glaring at her only had her smile broader as she sent a silent kiss his way.

Sherlock noticed Anderson in the opposite corner looking at Donovan when she threw the kiss and then scowling.

So, Sherlock thought, Donovan stood her ground and is still not sleeping with him. Good for her. Sherlock looked closer observing. He is still drinking. If fact he is drinking more. He is **more** of an idiot that even I thought he was. Does he not realize that he needs to get help? If not for his sake then for his children's sake. That BBC-1 reported is having an affair with the camera operator, the **married** cameraman. Oh, she is also having an affair with the reported from the other television network. Is that not a conflict of interest?

Anderson looked briefly at Sherlock then looked away. Sherlock noticed.

Anderson looked slightly guilty when he glanced at me. What's that about, Sherlock wondered. Before Sherlock could further analyze, he was drawn out of his thoughts at the reporters' newest title for him. They were always coming up with some nonsense in his opinion.

"The Modest Marvel." John without losing a smile whisper to Sherlock so that only he could hear. "Modest? They really don't know you. And, I told you, not the constipated smile. Smile like a normal person."

Sherlock _accidentally_ elbowed John, who did not lose his smile despite the slight exhalation of air heard.

"Excuse me John," Sherlock said sweetly out loud while he did not lose his smile. If fact, his smile seemed genuine now.

The press was finishing-up their questions. The attention was turned to DI Lestrade.

A small crowd was allowed in the Scotland Yard office. A small smiling face caught his attention. The smiling child was holding the hand of her aunt. Sherlock searched the small crowd. He looked at the mother now. A smile was also on the face of the normally stoic woman.

Her appearance was different. Her hair was loose and her clothes, even though still designer were more casual in appearance. The biggest change was her face. The normally stoic woman had a smile on her face. She took her daughter's hand from her sister and held her daughter just a little closer.

Katie Green wiggled her fingers as she waved at Sherlock.

Sherlock eyebrows raised not quite used to responding to children. He did want to acknowledge her so he walked off the podium while all attention was on Lestrade. John whispered his name but he ignored it. John rolled his eyes but kept a forced smile. He thought Sherlock had simply had enough until he followed his eyes.

Katie's smile widened as she saw him.

"Ms. Katie, you're looking well," Sherlock said. He did not understand why he had a desire to… smile.

Katie raised her hands and looked up.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Sherlock deduced by the raised arms and wiggling fingers she must want him to pick her up. He was not completely sure but went about testing his hypothesis. He picked her up. Apparently, he had been correct.

Flashes of light were flashing on his back. Sherlock's eye narrowed as he felt anger rise. He noticed John looking. He put back on a forced smile and thought of the timing that John always talked about and not saying anything stupid.

Of course, he never considered anything he ever said stupid but knew that John disagreed. He thought of a few things that he would** like** to tell the photographers. At least the television crew was still focused on Lestrade. He quickly considered a strategy.

He turned still smiling falsely and said, "Do you mind, she's a young child. I would not want her upset, just a moment of privacy then I promise to allow a few photos." He glanced at John who seemed to exhale the breath that he was holding.

Apparently, what he said was acceptable to all parties involved. There was one more flash then they walked back to Lestrade who was still speaking as he too glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of his eyes.

"Hi Sherlock," She glanced at her mother. "I mean Mr. Holmesy."

"It's Sherlock, but only to you."

Katie giggled and tested his name again, "Sherlock, I like your name."

He raised one eyebrow. "I glad it meets your approval." That earned another chorus of giggles.

Sherlock took the time to look her over, comparing in his mind the last time that he saw her. She looked good. All slight injuries healed, and she looked… happy. Katie touched his cheek. Sherlock was fully recovered with no bruises now. She thought about the last time that she saw him. He had a few big hurts on his face.

They talked about what Sherlock considered pure nonsense for ten minutes. He was about to correct her several times but decided just this once not to. Pure nonsense seemed to make her happy. He decided that if it made her happy then maybe he did not need to correct her after all. He was surprised to discover that her being happy was more important than correcting her illogical assumptions.

He would never admit this out loud of course. He tried to block out John's surprised look and smile as John listened to the two talking. It was annoying.

"I'm glad you're better Sherlock."

"Hum," Sherlock answered while still trying to work out why she thought her teddy bear Boki had magical powers. What were they teaching them in school these days, he wondered.

"Your face," her small hands touched it, "It was hurt. I kissed you before I went to the hospital to see my Mum, that's why you're better," she declared with certainty. Sherlock studied her quietly then looked at her inquisitively before responding.

"Oh, of course, it did the trick."

"We need to let Mr. Holmes get back to what he was doing now Katie." She frowned slightly then decided to be a big girl about it. She gave him a quick hug and another kiss.

Sherlock was curious but said nothing. He did not need to.

Katie rolled her eyes and sighed while patiently explaining. "That's just in case that you still have a hurt. It'll get all better now," she explained as if he was a little slow mentally and should have known such things.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Oh, of course."

Sherlock was unsure of why the innocent gesture provoked the dreaded emotions. He gave her the Deerstalker hat, glad to have an excuse to be rid of the thing.

"Thank you," Katie said smiling from ear-to-ear, as she put the treasure on. It was a little big but she did not care.

Before she left Mrs. Green asked to speak to Sherlock alone. Katie's aunt took the waving child and walked a distance away.

"Edward Green," She paused, "I mean Katie's father asked me to give you this letter." She looked at her daughter then looked back to Sherlock. "Thank you," She kissed him as well and with one last smile quickly left.

She had made some major changes in her life Sherlock decided as he heard John's footsteps approaching. He did not notice that most of the press had left and the television crews were packing up.

"Don't say a word," Sherlock warned before turning to John.

John opened his mouth with a smile to say something anyway when he noticed Sherlock's eyes narrowing in a dare. John raised an eyebrow and wisely decided to close his mouth after saying, "I'm shutting up now."

Sherlock let out a breath, relieved.

Sherlock looked at his watch and commented. "Mycroft's car should be outside now," as he started to walk. He turned questioningly as he did not hear John's footsteps behind.

"Let me tell Lestrade we're leaving."

He looked him up and down then simply nodded and turned to walk, "Do try to hurry up. You two can talk forever when you're gossiping about me."

"No promises Sherlock," John responded.

Sherlock walked toward the stairs. Now that he was back to himself physically. He had no patience for the lift.

Lestrade walked over to John as they both stared at Sherlock's retreating form. "He did pretty well that time." Lestrade said, "Even though I thought he was going to call the first reporter an idiot for a minute."

"So did I." John smiled, "I think he clinched his teeth together so hard I heard the grind."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"He did well with the kid." Lestrade finally broke the silence.

"Yea, that surprised me. He usually thinks kids are, and I do quote, little monster or aliens." John thought aloud.

"He must have met my niece." Lestrade tried to hold back a wicked smile.  
>John chuckled at that.<p>

"Well, I lived to see it." Lestrade said with a voice of barely concealed emotions.

"See what," John asked confused.

"I've known Sherlock for a long time. He used to be so distant; he was almost like a big, walking computer with no feelings. He also proclaimed himself a sociopath. Even though I'm no expert, I don't think he was ever truly sociopathic. I think you've done the near impossible, John."

"He is still definitely Sherlock but a little more human version of Sherlock I'd say. I wonder sometimes what he would have been like if he had not met you."

"It goes both ways Lestrade; he made me a better person too. He gave me a reason to live again, I think." Lestrade looked at John and smile, "I suppose you're right. You've been good for each other."

"Sherlock Holmes have always been a great man. Today we were lucky enough to witness him become a good man."

John was a little embarrassed that he became emotional as he nodded his agreement until he realized that Lestrade was holding back tears just as embarrassed.

As they looked at each other, they could not help the smile.


	166. Chapter 162

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 162

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments, there is more.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Nothing is predestined: The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings."~<strong>_Ralph Blum

* * *

><p><em><strong>Two Weeks Later<strong>_

_**Present Day**_

Twenty minutes later and they rode along in the back of the Mercedes that Mycroft had sent to them in a comfortable silence. Sherlock was appreciative of the fact that he and John could be in the same space and did not necessarily have to speak to feel comfortable. John was looking out the window deep in thought. Sherlock noticed that he would glance at him occasionally, smile, then look back out the window. Sherlock pretended not to notice the strange look on his face. It was probably some sentimental emotions. Sherlock was careful to smile back patiently.

Sherlock text alert sounded.

He pulled at his phone while ignoring John's not so subtle glance.

He read.

**Ping***_You looked sexy in your dark blue suit._

He raised an eyebrow but did not put the phone away. He knew when she was in a playful mood, which meant…

**Ping***_You even had a real smile toward the end._

A small smile was on the corner of his mouth now.

**Ping***_You really should not hit John with your elbow during a news conference. I'm starting to like him._

**Ping***_John looked cute too. Tell him hi._

Sherlock thought for only a moment, then his fingers danced across the mobile phone screen.

_Are you staying out of trouble Ms. Adler?_ ***Send**

He waited for a response as he glanced out the windows.

**Ping**_*****__ You know me Mr. Holmes. _;)

*_Yes, Ms. Adler._** *Send**

Sherlock put his phone away.

"So, how's she doing?" John voice floated into his mind.

"Hum," Sherlock said as he turned his attention to John.

"Adler, how is she?"

"What makes you so sure that, that was Ms. Adler? I get many texts." Sherlock was curious.

"None of your other text makes you smile." John said confidently.

"I do **not** smile," Sherlock glared.

"Yeah, you do." John had a smug expression on his face now.

Sherlock was both quiet and slightly annoyed.

"Ok then, if I'm so wrong, tell me who was it?" John folded his arms and waited for an answer while staring at Sherlock.

Five minutes passed with John still staring, arms folded.

Sherlock sighed a surrender. He knew when John was in one of his _I am determined to get an answer_ moods.

"She says to tell you hello." Sherlock said after clearing his throat.

John opened his mouth to say something else but Sherlock cut him off.

"Shut up John." Sherlock said slightly exasperated while looking at him. His eyes dared John to say anything else.

John opened then closed his mouth twice before deciding that maybe he had pushed Sherlock far enough for one day.

"Ok, ok Sherlock," John finally said. He half held up his hands in surrender then looked out the window with a satisfied smile.

Sherlock sighed again.

Sherlock glanced at John who was still looking out the window. He took out the letter the Katie's mother gave him to read. Sounds of the paper unfolding was heard in the small car. He quickly glanced at the letter and made several deductions. Sherlock treated the letter with the same seriousness that he would treat a letter at a crime scene.

_Male writer._

_Nice stationary. _

_Not his, probably Mrs. Greens._

_Therefore, they're staying at the same address now, interesting. _

_This letter was written only once. No deception or manipulation intended then. _

_The writer paused several times, probably to gather his thoughts._

_Not stress but waits to convey his feelings to the recipient of the letter. _

_That would be me._

He read now.

Mr. Holmes,

I could never begin to convey my gratitude for what you have done for us and on our behalf. I promise you three things this day Mr. Holmes. I promise to live each day without regret. I promise to leave those I love, with no doubt of that love. To live each day as if it was my last day on earth. Finally Mr. Holmes, as I have told your brother, I promise that if you should ever need my assistance for any reason whatsoever, you have it.

Sincerely,

Edward Green

Sherlock folded the letter and put it back in his jacket pocket. He regularly received many promises, gifts, and offers from appreciative clients and people he has helped over the years.

"_I promise to live each day without regret. I promise to leave those I love, with no doubt of that love."_

Sherlock thought that it was a sentimental sort of a thing to say. What troubled him was that he was unsure of why ten minutes later, he was still thinking of that one sentence of the letter. He thoughtfully looked out the window of the moving car, as it disappeared into London's evening traffic.

* * *

><p>AN: I hope that you enjoyed. Very close to the end now. I will make an announcement very soon. Let me know your thoughts.

Love to all, Zacha


	167. Chapter 163

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 163

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you for your comments.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own <strong>_

_**sunshine."**_~Ralph Waldo Emerson

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Day of the Press Conference- Evening<strong>_

_**Present Day**_

He hung up the phone with the former newspaper reporter. What was her name, Kitty Riley?

It all started innocently enough. It was a text.

Someone contacted him several weeks ago telling him to contact the woman. Someone who told him that she would be interested in bringing down and humiliating Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes was practically untouchable now. A real hero according to all the papers. Maybe, taking him down was more difficult at the moment but humiliation, that was easier. He smiled wickedly. The smile quickly left as doubt and guilt occupied its space.

Frowning, he looked at the reports. He would be dismissed from his job if they knew what he was doing. **If **they knew.

He took a gulp of the dark scented liquid and grimaced as it burned its way down his throat.

He stared at the plastic cup in his hand and frowned. His eyes traveled to the table. His eyes slowly looked around at the untidiness of the empty house then landed on the table.

He stared at the newspaper on the table with irritation and sighed.

He then looked at the documents. He eyed the video and audio tapes on the table. He both found and sneaked them out of the last site that Holmes was taken too after being kidnapped.

The audio taken seemed to have been made the day of his abduction and the audio device was even still running. The video seemed to have been made at a different site a different day. Anderson suspected it was about the time when he had received his _minor_ injuries.

He was originally going to turn them in, eventually. He was just a little curious.

A small part of Anderson was repulsed by the memory.

He found the audio tape device by mistake partially hidden behind a long desk on the floor. It was close to a blanket stained with blood. Finding the audio had caused him to search more carefully. He found in another room on the lower floor, close to the entrance, a video in a bag. It was close to the body of a deceased soldier.

The video was found in the bag with other devices that appeared as if they were used for torture. On the video, it looked as if he was in some sort of warehouse. There was a female in the video; as well as people who appeared to be soldiers.

So, Holmes had suffered more than most people know, a lot more. He heard the audio of him with soldiers and someone named Veselý. The things that were done to him. He wondered what Holmes would do to keep the information from going public. He personally wondered how Holmes was standing upright the day that he saw him. Anderson smiled. His smile quickly left and was replaced with a frown.

He reached for the bottle and refilled the cup.

He took another gulp of the brown liquid. It always burns he noticed vaguely no matter how much was drunk.

Anderson swallowed hard. A small voice inside him told him that he regretted Holmes suffering in such horrible ways.

He shook his head violently fighting the voice and said aloud, "I'm not sorry he suffered! I wish that I was there to witness it instead of listening to a tape or watching a video!"

"Speaking of videos..." he looked at the brown package again.

Why did he **not** tell the newspaper reporter about the tapes? Why did he **not** inform the voice that texted him? He frowned more.

Because you knew it was wrong, the small voice inside answered.

"I hate Sherlock," Anderson spoke out loud to the room.

Anderson frowned.

Something on the inside, it was small but it was still there fighting corrected him. The voice said he was feeling guilty for what he did to Sherlock. The voice said that he really did not want Holmes to suffer again and that he was glad that he had recovered. The voice said that he was jealous of the attention and the praise that Holmes was receiving. That he was jealous of his brilliant mind. That he was jealous of Sally Donovan seemingly sudden support of him. That he was not really angry with Holmes but at himself.

Anderson cursed.

He thought of Sally Donovan. She used to be **his** Sally. He felt a tear fall and angrily wiped it away. She had changed her attitude toward him. It was all Holmes fault! She would not even allow him to gossip about Holmes anymore. She actually called Holmes a hero, the Twat. Then she insulted him by saying that **he** needed help. She said that she would help him stop drinking.

He did not have a problem with drinking alcohol.

He could stop anytime he wanted to stop.

Anger boiled in him now. He slammed his fist down on the small kitchen table rattling the table. He quickly took a large gulp of alcohol.

Anderson cursed everyone and everything. He cursed his wife for overreacting. He cursed Donovan for betraying him. He cursed the idiots that failed to see that he was better than Holmes in every way.

Finally, he cursed Holmes.

Because, it was easier to curse Holmes and direct his anger at him, than try to look in the mirror. To face the mistakes that he had made, then start the painful but necessary process of self-examination and change.

He silenced the annoying voice in his head that seemed to be telling him lately to stop. He shook his head violently. He took a gulp of the soothing brown liquid in the glass.

His eyes glanced at the newspapers again. He frowned as he took it up and read the title for the sixth time. The paper declared Holmes the _Modest Marvel._ He growled as he threw the newspaper across the floor that declared Sherlock Holmes and company a hero.

Again.

The great Sherlock Holmes needed to be taken down a peg or two. If he could not get to him directly, maybe Doctor Watson was the key. He would think, he had time. He now emptied the glass and poured himself another drink.

Anderson rubbed his forehead as he took a deep breath to calm down. He looked at his mobile phone that was placed on the cluttered table.

So, Anderson thought, someone else did not like Holmes. What a surprise, he thought to himself sarcastically.

He took another swallow of the liquid fire. It burned its way down his throat as it simultaneously burned away his heart. Whoever was giving him the information promised to help him make Sherlock Holmes life miserable.

He looked at the documents, audio tape and video again. He knew that the government agents had claimed that all evidence found in the warehouse was the government's property and to be turned over to them.

Fear suddenly put its hand on Anderson. He had a moment of doubt.

Did he not hear rumors of Sherlock Holmes knowing someone important in the government. Someone who protected him? He frowned as he tried to remember the rumors. He shrugged, probably just gossip. No one is that powerful.

The voice inside spoke to Anderson again. The voice told Anderson to tell someone, to stop. It said that it was not too late to do the right thing.

He stilled the voice with another swallow.

He breathed in heavily with his eyes closed for a few minutes then opened them.

"**No!"** He growled out loud.

He blinked a few times as he dried wiped his face. He looked at his phone.

Whoever was guiding him kept referring to Sherlock as sexy. Anderson chuckled. Who on earth would think that Sherlock was sexy?

Anderson briefly glared toward the empty bedrooms. The house was so quiet. It was lonely without the kids around. He swallowed hard as another tear escaped. This time he let it fall.

**It's not too late to stop**, _the voice was pleading now._

Anderson swallowed hard then froze for a minute. He looked back toward the bedrooms again then to the bottle. Time seemed to stand still.

He considered for a moment. He could go to Lestrade. He could tell him everything and turn everything over to him. There would be repercussions but he knew him well enough to know that Lestrade would help him and he would not lose his job. He would probably demand that he stop drinking or some such nonsense.

Or

Everything was still and silent for a few minutes. He came to a decision, as every human must make a choice every day. He had to choose whether to do what is right or whether to do what is wrong.

There was the briefest of hesitations, then Anderson poured the dark liquid in his cup, filling it. He did not realize that he was pouring out the last bit of his conscious and his humanity.

Anderson never noticed as the voice finally went…

… **Silent****.**

* * *

><p>*AN: A **Twat** has two meanings. The one used here is used to insult a person who has upset you. Originally, it referred to a female body part, but is not strictly used in that way anymore. Let us leave it at that.*

**Next Chapter is the last chapter. I will put up 3 additional optional chapters after. More information by on next post.**

***Please comment. Thanks to the new and first time commenter. To the family, I appreciate you. Tell me your thoughts.***


	168. Chapter 164

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 164

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you **  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened,<strong>_

_**and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of **_

_**pain."**_ Charles Dickens

* * *

><p><em>One Month La<em>_ter at 221B_

John and Mrs. Hudson stood whispering in the doorway.

"At it again?" she asked

"Yes," John said simply, sipping his tea as he leaned on the doorframe.

"They're too alike for their own good," she said again.

"Try telling them that," John said rubbing his head, "Do you think they will kill each other if we pop down stairs?"

Mrs. Hudson linked her arm around John's and thought. "Well, the gun is locked up so it should be safe. I'd hate any more holes in my walls. Even though..., Sherlock does have that violin bow and that umbrella of Mycroft's is rather pointy, no telling what he uses the bloody thing for."

John stared at Mrs. Hudson wide eyed, mouth slightly open processing what was said. Then he burst into a fit of giggles. Mrs. Hudson soon joined.

The brothers stopped arguing long enough to take in the picture. There were looks of curiosity and confusion on both the Holmes faces.

"Sorry." John said unable to stop the chuckle, "We'll be next door if you need us." He turned to leave while smiling down at Mrs. Hudson. "Shall we," He said as they walked away leaving the Holmes brothers alone.

They stopped arguing. The two brothers sat opposite each other. They were mirrors of each other in many ways. Both were impeccably dressed. Mycroft in his gray pinstriped suit and vest, finished with a red striped tie; Sherlock in his black trousers, dark velvet purple jacket and matching dark purple shirt. Both legs cross, both felt the need to have their hands touch something. For Mycroft it was his pockets, the phone, or an umbrella. For Sherlock it was the bow of a violin, a phone, a pocket; or the touch of his own hands fingertip to fingertip.

There were so many similarities they shared and yes differences, definitely differences. Yet for all the superior genius of their minds and intellect, they could not see this because they shared one last trait.

They were both incredible stubborn.

"Curious, are they always so … emotional?" Mycroft asked as his right hand tilted the umbrella back and forth on the floor.

"One gets accustomed," Sherlock said with the violin bow resting on his shoulder.

"That was at our expense," Mycroft added needlessly.

"Of course," Sherlock replied just as needlessly.

* * *

><p>Both Holmes drank tea. They both decided without saying a word, to take a break from their arguing.<p>

Mycroft wanted Sherlock to head a new anti terrorist covert group. Sherlock said he would never sit behind a desk and found the entire idea, "Dull". Then Mycroft countered by asking Sherlock to at the very least, consult on a case in Russia. Sherlock stated it was "Boring and Dull" Mycroft reminded him of his duty. Sherlock then told him where to put his duty.

When Mycroft commented that he thought that Sherlock would have LOVED the idea of going to Russia while smirking, the true war had begun.

It was their way. In the end he would do as Mycroft requested, he always did, after irritating him first, of course.

Sherlock briefly wondered if John kept his passport up-to-date.

Currently they sat in quiet. This was the eye in the middle of the storm. It was a temporary reprieve in their mental war.


	169. Chapter 165

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter 164

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.

Thank you to those of you who just started to read is new to reviews, welcome and thank you.

***To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Cyber hugs.**

****Thank you.****

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even<strong>_

_**grief itself arose so softened,**__**and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections,**_

_**that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of **_

_**pain."**_ Charles Dickens

* * *

><p><em>One Month La<em>_ter at 221B_

Mycroft looked at his brother; he really did look good. All injuries healed, physical at least and most others as well.

Mycroft contemplated how his brother had inherited their Mummy's pale completion. Because of this, when he was recovering his skin tone was almost ghostly. His color had returned; he looked good. The past few months have been a living hell for Sherlock. Most men would have been broken under the weight of what Sherlock have had to endure, and had to carry, but not Sherlock. He was a Holmes after all. Better, he was Sherlock. The truth is he was proud of his little brother.

Mycroft cleared his throat as his right hand held the umbrella to the floor. What was happening to him lately? Was he really turning into one of those people who got sentimental? How… Dreadfully dull, as his brother would say.

Mycroft took a breath.

Mycroft did something then he never does. He spoke without calculation of every word, examining the consequences and angles.

If it were not such an insult, he would have said he spoke from his heart.

"I died," Mycroft words seemed rushed and random.

"I beg your pardon," Sherlock was confused by Mycroft's seemingly arbitrary statement.

"At first I did not believe that you died. I looked, read the files on the examined body. I looked at the surveillance cameras. I looked for anything that would indicate that you were alive. According to all accounts, Molly has always been exceptional in her job, and her reports was quite thorough and conclusive. No reason existed to doubt her reports that the body was yours."

Mycroft eyed his brother suspiciously, "Down to the DNA, all evidence pointed that to the fact that it was you," Mycroft smiled while looking at his little brother, "I suppose you have always been exceptionally gifted in the sciences, Sherlock."

Mycroft took a breath.

"You were gone. I was alone. It was my fault." Mycroft shifted in his chair and sighed.

"Despite what people think, I do feel guilt Sherlock. Granted rarely, but when it concerns you, often."

"Then, I started seeing you everywhere. However, every lead turned up to be nothing. I even thought I saw you outside my residence the week of your death. I was going quite mad." Mycroft raised his eyebrow while biting his lower lip.

A childhood habit the rare times Mycroft was alone with Sherlock and nervous.

"The red haired man?" Sherlock asked frowning.

"How did you…" Mycroft started to ask before being interrupted by his brother.

"That was me," Sherlock confessed.

"I don't understand," Mycroft sat up straight now.

"Neither do I. I was about to leave the country, I saw John and Mrs. Hudson at the grave the day before. I had to see you too." Sherlock said quietly with some embarrassment.

Sherlock added, "It was illogical, and dangerous and sentimental, yet I could not stop myself."

There was a pregnant silence as Sherlock's words soaked into Mycroft.

After a moment, he spoke again.

"After your… _death_… I felt nothing," Mycroft started again. "I did my duty. I ate when necessary I woke when necessary. I slept when necessary, but I felt dead. At one point, I argued that if I felt dead, Why not just join you. I held the gun in my hand twice. I probably for the sake of duty would not have done it. Probably." Mycroft frowned. For the first time in his life, he was not sure what he would have done.

Sherlock inhaled sharply but said nothing.

Mycroft smiled sadly, "But, then the first anonymous lead came in and I had a new purpose. I would watch over John and Mrs. Hudson from a distance, I would bring down the rest of Moriarty's web with my bare hands if necessary. It kept me sane. It kept me here."

Sherlock swallowed heavily.

"I did not know it would affect you so much. I wasn't sure you still cared." Sherlock said quietly while looking Mycroft in the face.

"Because you're an idiot," Mycroft said raising an eyebrow.

"Possibly." Sherlock smiled.

"That is as close as you've ever come to admitting the obvious." Mycroft smiled as well.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows then smirked at his comment. That turned into a chuckle, which blossomed into a full hearty laugh.

Mycroft chuckled quietly beside him.

"You do realize you're still a git," Sherlock asked.

"If you admit you're still a sod," Mycroft joined

"Well, where do we go from here?" Sherlock asked

"I suppose we could simply start over," Mycroft ventured.

"Does that mean I have to adopt John?" Mycroft wondered out loud frowning.

"You already have an annoying little brother, think of him as the better behave middle brother, Mycroft."

Feeling overcome with emotion, Mycroft walked over to the window and looked out. Sherlock came up silently behind him and after the smallest of hesitations, put his hand on top of Mycroft's shoulder. Mycroft put his other free hand on top of Sherlock's hand.

They both allowed the memories and emotions to come. Long ago, locked away memories to come. Good and bad. However, there was so much more good.

John let himself in and was shocked to see the two Holmes brothers showing what he could only describe as affection to one another. Even more amazing was the fact that neither seemed apologetic or embarrassed. "Sorry I'll just go…"

"No stay, John," Sherlock requested simply

"Please," Mycroft added

John was not sure what happened, was happening, but they were trusting him and was calling him to be a witness to the new chapter in the lives of the Holmes Brothers.

He knew they would still argue and bicker, what family did not.

He also knew there would be love.

That love would be there, **not deleting** but instead **healing** even the very worse of memories.

End

* * *

><p>Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing. Now would be a perfect time to comment.<p>

***** Please read the note from the author. *****

I will list a thank you to those who posted at the end of the last** bonus chapters** so that no one is missed.

Love to all.

Zacha


	170. Chapter 166

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories.

**Author's Note**

* * *

><p>It is an investment in time to read these chapters as well as write them. Thank you. I want everyone to end with a <strong>satisfied <strong>feeling so this is what I decided.

If the ending you just read satisfies you, then you are finished. For those of you who want a little more. I have three more posts. You have **two** choices.

1. Pick the ending you like and will make you happy

**or**

2. Read all three. Consider them to be three last chapters. **Both will make sense.**

**I have a new story starting next weekend titled, **Forgotten Memories **by Zacha. I already wrote a few chapters. I will put it up the same day the last bonus chapter is up. **

**Thank you to all who have read. Special thanks to all how have reviewed and commented.**

To those I communicate with on a regular basis, a very special thanks.

Any questions, just PM me.

Thank you over 220,000 views in English now. Thank you for your support, ideas, and corrections. I will be slowly going back through to correct any mistakes. A new author says a very sincere thank you. To my newest reviewers as of 9/08/12, thank you.

I still answer reviews but make sure that your PM is enabled.

* * *

><p><strong>Edited 422/13. Thank you to all, and my latest reviewer as well. If you did not get a personal message from me, your accounts was set, so that I could not. Know that I appreciate you all. Thank you to my large following in China. I send you good thoughts, and the best of wishes.**

jack63kids, filmkid21, Anstic, FabulousKilljoyPhilosophy, Lady Sam Mallory,It's-Somebody, Walking Horizon(Thank you for your hard work), kamelion, goanago, Cassie, Guest #1, coolness10123, Guest #2, go get it, and hijohn (Who have read the story twice,thanks.)

If I missed anyone, please PM me.

A special thanks to those of you who have walked with me through the journey. I have already included your names, but I still wanted to thank you again.

Lots of Love and best wishes to all, Zacha


	171. Alternate 1

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Alternate #1

**Warning:** adults talking and...

* * *

><p><em><strong>"The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning."<strong> _~Ivy Baker Priest

* * *

><p>Да? <strong>means <strong>Yes?

* * *

><p><em><strong>Three weeks after the news conference<strong>_

_**Just outside Saint Petersburg, Russia**_

She was dressed in her designer sleeveless dress. It was form fitting and beige in color. It was also one of her favorites. Her long dark hair was down and in its natural waves. She wore it this way sometimes now. She used to like everything including her hair, perfectly structured and in place, but now sometimes just wished for a bit of the unpredictable.

She was safe, Sherlock had made sure of that fact, but she was bored. The servants were sent home for the day and she was alone now. She sighed as she looked out her oversized windows. Night would soon arrive. She would then be able to see the lights of the distant but beautiful city from her balcony.

Saint Petersburg resonated with life. She could almost feel the past and the present as they kissed each other daily and invited those within her gates to marvel at the odd mixture of the ultra modern and the historically magnificent structures that were her treasures. Irene loved the city but it was where she lived now, it would never truly be her home.

She stumbled from her thoughts abruptly as a phone ring tone echoed in the moderately sized room.

She looked behind her as she rose from the plush beige striped chair. She walked gracefully to the table and with a slight stretch of her right arm picked up the mobile phone. Her eyebrows raised in question. She was pleased yet surprised by the call. She texted him daily but he only responded every two weeks or so and have not done so for near a week. Once, out of curiosity, she did not text him for three days. Day two he causally texted inquired if she was staying out of nonsense, as he liked to call it. She did not respond. On day three, he was at her door. She had no idea how he knew where she was. How he always seemed to know where she was.

"Да?" When speaking on the telephone, they never said hello or goodbye, it was not their way.

"Ms. Adler," She smiled, she could hear him breathing on the phone as if he was moving while he spoke to her.

"I saw you on the telly, blue suit. It was a good choice; the color matched your eyes. John looked handsome in his black suit as well." There was a brief pause. "So, you're a hero… again." She was in a playful mood. "I'm honored to receive a call from the Modest Marvel. That is what the newspapers are calling you isn't it." She knew he did not care for that particular kind of attention. He would deny such emotions but she believed that it embarrassed him.

He sighed deeply. "You know that I cannot abide those sorts of things but Mycroft insisted. He said that it was necessary." She was enjoying the conversation with Sherlock. He usually did not talk about his feelings or his brother. She knew how he felt, of course, but to hear him say the words out of his mouth felt surprisingly intimate.

_A brief silence_

"How is it there in London, wet?" Irene missed London. Out of all the places in the world, the cold damp country was like heaven to her, but that did not matter, did it. She was here in Saint Petersburg.

Saint Petersburg was now her _home_.

He did not answer right away. He did that sometimes, she was used to it. Her thoughts occupied her while she waited.

She sighed as she glanced around her residence. She walked over to her fireplace and leaned to the side of it, embracing its warmth as she looked around the elegant room. Crystal vases sparkled from the light of the setting sun as it filtered pass the column of sheer curtains that lined the windows. She kept them filled with tulips year round. She preferred yellow and white tulips, but only yellow was available.

She preferred the rooms to be full of flowers in the colder months; it reminded her of the promise of spring. As a child living with her grandmother, it was her favorite time of year. Spring was a time of new life and new beginnings. It was a time when all mistakes were forgiven and fresh starts were allowed.

"I would not know Ms. Adler."

"You didn't tell me that you were off on some assignment."

"Ayyad is dead; his entire kingdom except for one general who is on the run is destroyed. Are you going after the fourth link that you could not identify?" She became angry for some reason. She scolded herself. She should have known better than to think he would have allowed himself to rest maybe even heal.

He did save countless lives. It was silly of her to think that he would take off an afternoon, maybe even a whole day.

"John and I had some… business to take care of here but it's resolved." He paused.

"No, this is… different..."

Adler heart started to race as worry filled her mind. Sherlock hesitated. Sherlock does not hesitate. He almost seemed unsure of himself. She took a breath and tried to even out her voice so that her apprehension was not apparent.

"How so Mr. Homes?"

Sherlock's voice paused on the line. He did not answer right away. She waited.

"We're alike in many ways, are we not?" There was a slight pause, "Do you ever get tired Ms. Adler?"

Irene was confused and did not understand. She did not like the feeling of helplessness that came with not understanding.

She frowned for a moment as she became frozen with a silent stillness. She took a breath, deciding. She did something unusual and out of character for her, she told the truth. She closed her eyes and spoke.

"Yes," Her voice was soft and broke a little. It happened then. She put her mask down.

There was silence on the phone for a long time. She wondered if Sherlock was still there but heard him breathing and knew he was.

She bit her reddened lips and sighed finally.

"Are you there?" She asked quietly when she could no longer stand it.

"Yes." She heard Sherlock say; only his deep baritone voice was no longer coming from the phone line but was directly behind her.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Real life seems to have no plots."~<em>**_Ivy Compton-Burnett_

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><p>The phone dropped forgotten from her hand. She swallowed hard as she took a deep breath and then turned around.<p>

He was standing by the door, "You really should be more careful Ms. Adler."

She drank in the sight of him. A flutter rippled through her as her pulse quickened. She wanted to say something funny, flirtatious, or witty but all she could do was, stare.

Sherlock locked eyes with her as he slowly advanced. He seemed to be as unsure as she was.

She finally found her voice.

"Why are you here?"

"I think you know."

He stopped a yard away and stood in the shadows of the fireplace light. The orange and red flames danced across his face and dark suit.

"Why are you here, Mr. Holmes?" She asked again with words born of part hope, part fear.

Sherlock smirked and looked down briefly with both hands in his pocket before resuming looking at her.

"Because," he started, "I'm tired too." He tilted his head as his gaze became intense. He studied her.

Irene's heartbeat quickened more as she swallowed again and tried to remember to breathe.

He advanced on her slowly, making his way up to her as they both maintained eye contact. He was impossibly close now. His voice had deepened. There was also now a roughness to its tone. He left the smallest of spaces between their bodies as his eyes bore into her soul. He waited as he allowed her to truly see him. She made a decision and closed the small space. He exhaled a sigh and closed his eyes as she took the last step and molded her body to his, leaning one hand and her head on his chest.

She listened to his heart. It was beating strongly but fast. It was strangely comforting and she closed her eyes and sighed as well. "I hear your heart Mr. Holmes." He looked at Irene saying nothing.

They were emotionally naked before each other. Both put down their masks, the one that they both wore every day when facing the world. They were both creatures of the mind. They both enclosed themselves behind walls constructed from their own strong wills. They were untouchable by near everyone even each other. Now however, the walls were shaking, cracking, and pieces splintered then tumbled to the ground.

His hands that were still in his pockets came out as he slowly, extracted them, and wrapped them gently yet possessively around her waist.

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><p><em><strong>"The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to pleasure but from hope to hope."~<strong>__Samuel Johnson_

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><p>He smiled down at her then looked away briefly as a look of deep contemplation came on his face. He, without realizing it, ran one hand down her back as he spoke, "I'm here because this thing between us, whatever it is, pulls me, burns me. I feel you even when you're half a world away."<p>

She had never known him to willingly reveal so much of himself. Irene looked up at him. She hated the emotions breaking her voice, "What now Mr. Holmes?"

"This is a first for me so don't be shocked if I say this but… I don't know. All I know is that I had to be here. I had to see you. And, I had to do something that I have wanted to do, Ms. Adler for quite some time."

Sherlock gently lifted Irene's chin so that she was looking at him. A thumb brushed circles on her cheek. They locked eyes and kept eye contact as he lowered his lips gently brushing her lips with his. Irene sighed against the feeling of his soft, full, warm lips.

He tenderly kissed her by the fireplace, with the flames dancing on their faces. It was their only light and only witness.

His kisses quickly became more demanding and urgent and he gained access to her mouth and tasted her. Their minds cataloged every sensation and reaction.

His eyes motioned toward her bedroom as she nodded with a smile. He easily picked her up and carried her as he managed to kiss her along the way.

"I do know how to walk, Mr. Holmes." She said with some amusement. "I had no idea that you were a secret romantic."

"It's logical," He tried to convince both her and himself, "You'll need all your energy."

"Romantic," she teased. He raised an irritated eyebrow. "Not to worry Sherlock, I have plenty of energy. I've been saving it all for you."

He stopped walking and looked in her eyes as he held her. He saw the truth of what she said.

She only shrugged. "You've ruined me Sherlock. It seems that my old ways weren't amusing anymore but quite boring." She looked slightly embarrassed but refused to look away. "It would seem that I only have an… appetite for you." Irene was a strong woman and not used to showing weakness. She wondered what Sherlock would do with this important piece of information.

What she saw in his eyes melted the last wall to her heart. Sherlock did not look smug or superior. He made no indication that he had won their little ongoing battle of will and mind. He only looked happy and somewhat pleased.

Sherlock smiled a real unguarded smile. "It would appear Irene that we have ruined each other then. I am married to my work remember, yet here I am. It would appear that John was right."

At her confused look, he explained. "He told me that if I was married to my work, then I was in danger of committing adultery. Although, I did not know it at the time, judging by the inappropriate thoughts coursing through my mind, I think he was correct."

She stared oddly at Sherlock as she processed his words. She suddenly broke into a fit of giggles. Sherlock looked surprised to hear the sound of unrestrained laughter coming out of the mouth of the normally composed woman. He could not help after a brief moment of shock to smile at the sight. He was surprised to realize that he found the sound - enjoyable.

He kissed her again then. She stopped as her laughter became a moan. She put her left hand to caress the side of his face encouraging him along. He started walking again but not before giving her another passionate kiss that caused them both to groan and have to catch their breath. She laughed happily, as she removed her hands from around his neck. She started to unbutton his shirt. When he smiled amused she shrug and said, "Just being efficient Mr. Holmes." His dilated eyes became dark and unreadable.

"That's good, because I finally find myself, very…"

He captured her lips in his mouth and ran his tongue along the edges. By the sound coming from her, he deduced that it had been the right thing to do.

"Very…"

He kissed the sucked her neck. First one side then the other as she moaned her approval.

"Hungry…"

He kissed her as he simultaneously reached behind to unzip her dress as much as he could without dropping her so that he could gain more access to her skin. Sherlock lowered his kisses to her lower neck and collarbone as he crossed into the bedroom.

The increasing sounds of moaning was his undoing. He heard himself moaning in response. His body was on fire and his clothing becoming beautifully uncomfortable. Sherlock's brain did something it never did then; it sat down as his heart stood up and took over.

His body was shaking slightly from barely contained passion as he lowered her to the beautiful oak post bed. Their eyes alight with passion never left each other, as the sounds of their rapid and irregular breathing filled the room. He walked back to the edge of the room to shut both the door and the world out.

He resumed kissing her then. That kiss would be the first of many increasingly passionate kisses, in what would be a night to heal, a night to rest, a night to forget, and most importantly a night they both would always remember.

The end

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><p><strong>AN:** I hope that you enjoyed, comment please. Tell me your thoughts. This is the first of three. The next alternate up in 24 hours or less.


	172. Alternate 2

9

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Alternate #2

**Warning:** bitter- sweet

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><p>"<em><strong>While we are free to choose our actions, we are not free to choose the consequences of our actions."<strong>_

~ Stephen R. Covey

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><p>Adler held the phone up to her mouth. Her hood was over her head. The air was cold in London, how could she have forgotten. Normally, she would have gone into his flat and just showed up like she always does but something held her back this time. Something in his voice the last time that they communicated by phone. It had been their only other form of communication except text for close to five months.<p>

"Mrs. Adler," she smiled at his deep baritone voice. She could not help it. He did not have to know this of course.

They never said hello or goodbye on the phone.

"Mr. Holmes," She took a moment before continuing.

"Keeping yourself out of trouble these days, I used to be the one who was always in the middle of chaos. I have not seen a good explosion on the telly or read about terrorist cells being broken up lately." She really did not care what they talked about she just wanted an excuse to hear his voice.

"I'm not quite that bad Ms. Adler." There was a brief moment of silence. She could almost see his smile. It caused her to smile in return. "Besides, the last explosion that I read about in Bulgaria was your handiwork not mine." She could almost see his eyebrows as it tilted slightly to indicate that he was really scolding her.

"I was bored. Besides, the place was a headquarters for a sex trafficking ring. I thought that you wanted me to… what is the word that you used… oh yes… **do** **good**."

"I appreciate your efforts, however, maybe next time you could make sure that the people inside have vacated the premises first," his tone was no longer scolding. He spoke softly. He was, with the exception of her grandmother, the only one who has ever understood her.

"I'll keep that in min…" she interrupted her sentence as he exited his flat. "Mind." She corrected herself causally.

He had his familiar dark coat on but opened with no scarf because of the warming weather. He was dressed in his dark suit and dark blue shirt. The street light illuminated him and made it easy to see him. She however stood in the shadows and blended in with her dark clothing.

Her breath stilled a little before inhaling deeply. He was gorgeous. He always dressed impeccably but he seemed to have made even more effort tonight. She wondered where he was going so late. "Um," she thought as her mind wandered a little.

"… **Irene**…" Her mind snapped back to the present. "Um – yes?" She could tell he had been talking for a while. She wondered how to answer him when she was not sure what he had said. She supposed that she could try the honest approach but, what would be the fun in that? Wait, he had called her Irene. They stopped using first names when she left.

"Are you alright," his body was stiff; his voice was tender and full of concern. He looked intense as he stood under the light a slight frown was on his face.

"I'm fine," she smiled, "Just thinking Sherlock." He smiled now as he exhaled a breath. His body relaxed at the use of his first name. Her smile faded. Someone came out the door. It was a woman about her height with long loose brown hair. She frowned. She had her coat open as well. Underneath she had a simple fitted dress the almost exact color of her skin and sensible shoes the same color. She wore a little makeup and lipstick. Just enough to enhance her features not change her appearance. She was pretty but not gorgeous. At first glance, one might have thought that the woman was all goodness and sunshine. But, her eyes. There was fierceness there, and loyalty, and a protectiveness.

Something in her eyes reminded her of someone. She suddenly realized who it was.

It was John.

Sherlock looked at her and smiled. He then put his hand over the phone and spoke to her briefly before walking a few steps away. Irene just looked for a moment.

"Are you sure that you're ok?"

"I'm fine."

"Isn't that my line?" Alder couldn't help the smile then chuckle. "I suppose it is, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at the woman. He frowned. It was as if he wanted to go but he wanted to stand where he was and talk on the phone at the same time.

She would make it easy for him but first she had to know, "Are you happy?"

Sherlock looked at the smaller woman and Adler could almost see his logical mind calculating, hypothesizing, and then she saw the moment that he finally surrendered his mind to something else.

"Happy… yes… I suppose I am… happy." It was as if the news was as much of a surprise to him as to her.

"Good," she was surprised that she meant it. She was about to disconnect when his voice stopped her.

"Take care of yourself." Sherlock's voice was gentle.

"You know me."

"Yes," He looked intense, "You know that I'll be there if you should ever need me."

"Always." He stressed.

"I know," She whispered as she swallowed the lump in her throat, she said something then that she did not want to say, "Goodbye Mr. Holmes." She disconnected the call.

A tear came unwelcome as it rolled down her cheek. She wiped at it almost curiously. He was the only man that could make her shed tears in her adult life.

She just stood there looking at him. He held the phone in his hand, just standing still for a moment as if deep in thought. She watched him shift his attention and look at the smaller woman. He then walked over to her. He brushed a strain of hair behind her ears as they spoke.

So her suspicions were confirmed. He found someone that he could trust with his whole heart. It had almost been her. She looked down for a moment and then looked up with a sad smile. She saw the way he looked at the woman, she wondered if he knew yet. "Welcome to the human race, Mr. Holmes."

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>You are the one who must choose your place."~<strong>_ James Lane Allen

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><p>"Sorry to keep you waiting," Sherlock said gently as he pushed a strain of hair the wind blew behind her ear and away from her face.<p>

Molly was still surprised whenever he displayed any kind of affection in public. It seemed almost second nature now for almost a month.

She was a little jealous but knew Sherlock well enough to know that there was no reason to be. She had known him longer than almost anyone had. He was not a man to make commitments, and then did not make them easily. She also knew that the few times he did, he was completely committed and loyal. She knew he had not seen Adler physically for five months even though he still checked on her by text often.

"That was Adler," She asked.

"Yes," He said nothing more but let his hand linger on her face a little longer than necessary.

"You still care for her." It really was not a question.

"Yes, I've explained that to you with all honesty. I suppose I always will." He looked her in the eyes and gently pulled her close as their lips touched in the gentlest of kisses. Sherlock continued, "But this," he searched for words, "My…heart, such as it is… belongs to you."

Molly smiled contently. "I know," She said as she pulled his head down for another kiss more passionately this time. She heard Sherlock moan as he pulled away. He smiled as he raised an eyebrow. "Molly Katherine Hooper, I think perhaps we better stop or I assure you my wonderful plans for a proper dinner and dancing will most certainly be… ruined. Keep in mind that it was you and John that had conspired to inform me that a trip to a crime scene was not a proper date."

"Molly smiled from ear-to-ear, "We would not want to spoil your plans. I've been trying to get you dancing for a month."

"Two Molly. I suppose it is logical to not allow all those dance lessons of my youth to go to waste."

"Well, there's always later," she said a little too sweetly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he smiled while looking at her curiously.

The cab was coming.

Sherlock raised his hand as the cab pulled up. He opened the door for Molly and was about to step in when a shadow in the corner across the street caught his eye. He stood for a moment looking, unsure why, then he mentally shrugged and got into the taxi.

As they drove along Molly noticed that Sherlock was unusually quiet. He would usually talk of John, or cases, or John, or the idiots in the police force - Lestrade was the exception of course, or John.

"You ok, Sherlock?" She frowned as she put her hand on his.

"Yes, Sorry. Am I too quiet?" He turned with a look of concentration.

"Of course not. You know you can be yourself with me." Molly locked eyes with him and allowed him to deduce her seeing the truth there. She did not mind. She knew he could not stop deducing, just as he could not stop breathing. She had known him years before they were involved. She loved and accepted him as he was.

"Yes." Sherlock finally said somewhat amazed that she not only knew what he was doing but was allowing him to do it. He smiled as he took her hand.

How could she have been there all this time and he had not **seen** her? He supposed he was not looking then. Nothing matter but the work. The work was still a priority, but he realized that allowing people into his life selectively, added to his life and did not take away from the work. John had taught him that. Then there was Adler. He looked out the window for a moment. He was concerned about her, he was not sure why. He sighed.

He looked at Molly contemplatively. She allowed him to be himself. She did not get upset when he became obsessed with a case or became bored, or went for days without talking. Well, she did have ways to get him to talk now that he thought about it. She had more effective ways to deal with his boredom than bullets being shot in walls he had to also admit. Mrs. Hudson was grateful for that fact.

Sherlock further considered Molly. She understood how important John was to him and did not try to take his place. No one could. She understood that he had an equally important but different place for her in his heart.

He did have to admit however, that Molly had changed. It was one of the things that first caught his attention. She was still Molly but she was bolder and allowed her intelligence to show. She rarely stuttered around him anymore. Molly now shared her opinion even if it was different from his. She was also not afraid to tell him when he was being an arse or to get his own coffee. Sherlock smiled at the notion. She and John were alike in that way. Sherlock briefly wondered if he had changed as well.

Her voice drew him out of his thoughts.

"So, in this semi-secret plan of yours, will John and Mary be there?"

"I know we usually met them for dinner, but I wanted us to be alone tonight… if you don't mind." Sherlock looked intensely at her.

"Of course, Sherlock." Molly looked at him. "You do know that you're acting strangely tonight."

"Am I?" He smiled before adding

"They will meet us later along with Lestrade and Katie. I wanted witnesses for my dancing debut," Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows. Molly laughed as she tried to get over the fact that Sherlock Holmes had a sense of humor. Sherlock smiled in return as she linked her closest arm around his arm; laid her head on his shoulder and then closed her eyes.

Sherlock kissed the top of her head. His free hand went inside his suit pocket as he held the small box in his hand. He thought to himself.

It is only logical; it is the next step in a relationship if John is to be believed. They were together almost all the time anyway. He has known her for years. John had taken the plunge, so to speak, and it had not hindered their work or hindered their friendship, as he had once feared that it would. If anything, John and he were impossibly close now.

It is purely logic and a matter of convenience, he repeated to himself. She was a pathologist and could help him with his work. He frowned. He looked at Molly and something on the inside gently shifted. Maybe, it was a bit more than logic and Sherlock realized with a contented smile that, that was ok.

He kissed her head again then He leaned his head back and relaxed for the remainder of the ride. He sighed at himself; he shook his head in disbelief because he had this illogical need to touch her all the time.

He looked out the window. Today would be his practice run. He had to make sure everything was timed perfectly. He would do it in six months on her birthday. People like that sentimental sort of thing.

He looked at Molly.

Molly would appreciate that sentimental sort of thing. He pulled Molly closer. He had a look of concentration as he withdrew to his mind. He cataloged the events of the day and organized data on the latest case that was solved earlier that afternoon. Sherlock never noticed when his left hand subconsciously again brushed against the small box.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Honor isn't about making the right choices. It's about dealing with the consequences.<strong>_"~ Anonymous

* * *

><p>Moments in time linked together by the decisions that are made. A series of choices. That's all that life really was. She made a choice months ago that pushed him away. It was not because she did not care for him. It was because she cared too much. It was because she was like fire and he was like paper. She would have consumed him until there was nothing left.<p>

John told her that Sherlock deserved to know why she was leaving London but she was afraid. The man was clever. In a few more days he would have known the truth.

Sherlock had felt something was wrong, he watched her closely without saying a word. He would have started to dig, to tear her apart mentally for answers, but one thing stopped him. He cared for her too much to disrespect her that way. Still, he would have worked out her secret so she left before he could. He respected her enough not to find her. His only request was that she text him daily to let him know that she was alright.

The truth was that she was afraid. The woman that feared nothing was afraid of Sherlock Holmes.

Maybe she had lied. Maybe she was the paper and he was the flame.

She had come to tell him the truth. He would have forgiven her if she told him her reason for leaving. It was a very good reason. It was a life changing reason. But, apparently, it was too late. Doctor Molly Hooper had won his heart. If Irene had any doubts that Molly would care for Sherlock, she would have ripped her apart. However, she could not. Molly had John's heart. Both John and Molly would die to protect Sherlock.

So would she.

She swallowed hard at the realized of what she must do, and do alone. She shook her head smiling sadly, as a lone tear ran down.

Choices.

Adler looked as they got into the cab. She sighed and smiled. She had come to give him the news but she would not now, it would be her gift to him. She briefly wondered if not telling him was the right thing to do; that is why she had come.

She used to not worry about what was right. Sherlock Holmes has been a bad influence on her, she joked. She looked at the retreating cab. "You deserve to be happy." She whispered. And with the briefest of hesitations, "Goodbye my love."

"Oh, well," she sighed then thought. Saint Petersburg was beautiful this time of year. On the other hand, maybe somewhere warm would be best all things considered. She had not been to the islands in years. It was a time for new life to come into the world. Spring, a time of new beginnings. At least she would always have a part of him.

She put her hands on her stomach and made another choice.

She walked away not looking back.

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><p>AN: I hope you enjoyed. One more alternate to go. The last will probably be the most surprising. Tell me your thoughts.

Lots of Love, Zacha


	173. Alternate 3

Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Alternate #3

***Warning:** Tissue warning, anything goes.

This alternate occurs after chapter 165

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><p>"<em><strong>Courage is the first of human qualities because it is the quality that guarantees all the others."<strong>_

~ Winston Churchill

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><p><strong><em>Part I<em>**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day<em>**

Moments in time, linked together by the decisions that are made. A series of choices. That is all that life really was. Forty–eight hours; or two thousand- eight hundred and eighty minutes; or one hundred and seventy two thousand, eight hundred seconds if it is preferred. That is all that it took to bring him to this moment, this impossible moment and this impossible and painful choice.

* * *

><p><strong>42 minutes ago<strong>

John has been unaccounted for eleven hours. They arrived at the remote abandoned weapons factory. Several other buildings on the same site surrounded the building. For over ten minutes, they searched and fought their way up to where they were now. They did not have time to wait for backup.

The small group moved through the building with guns drawn. They had separated into groups of two but Sherlock had disappeared. He was more concern with finding John than proper protocol. Two agents were killed and five of the general's men. This was the very last of Ayyad's generals. Broken and with nothing to lose, he had sworn his revenge against Holmes. He stood in the middle of a room now waiting. A gun was in one hand and phone with entered codes in another.

He heard them approaching and smiled as he saw him enter the room with a gun in hand. Random gunshots were still heard in the background. He knew that Holmes was not alone and soldiers were engaging whoever it was close by. The soldier's smile widened as he saw him.

Sherlock slowly entered with gun drawn. The great Sherlock Holmes, he thought as he glanced at him. The general then glanced at the man handcuffed to the chair. His smile faded when he saw another man come into the room. He had seen him before. He believed he was the DI. He was suddenly outnumbered something he had not counted on.

John locked eyes with Sherlock and nodded discreetly. Sherlock quickly turned his attention back to the general.

"Let him go, if I don't shoot you I'm sure Mr. Holmes here will be all too happy to, and he's a pretty decent shot." Lestrade looked the general in the eyes without flinching.

The general shifted the gun quickly from Holmes to John's head then said. "Private conversation. Do shut up and lower your gun." He turned his attention back to Holmes. "Mr. Holmes I know you're trying to get closer so stop or you'll have to pick up Doctor Watson's brain from the floor." Sherlock and Lestrade instantly stopped moving. Anger flashed on DI Lestrade's face, but he did not say another word. He however did not lower his gun.

"So here we are, Mr. Holmes."

"Let him go," Sherlock said simply with an unreadable face.

"If I let him go, you'll never know the truth Mr. Holmes."

"And that would be?" The Consultant Detective's eyes traveled pass the soldier as he cataloged the general layout of the room.

"That you're just like the rest of us. That when it comes to your life and the life of another you would choose your own."

The soldier paused for dramatic effect before continuing.

"The concept of dying a heroic death Mr. Holmes is romantic. The reality is terrifying. If given a choice you will choose yourself just like the rest of us." The general patted John on the head. Anger flashed in John's eyes but he said nothing.

"I actually do not plan to die today and I will not allow John to die either." Sherlock said casually.

"Mr. Holmes, it's amusing to see you try to win a hand when you're holding no cards." He smiled as he held up the phone for the Consultant Detective to see. He then pushed the send button. Lestrade's eyes became wide as he glanced at Holmes for a reaction but the consultant's eyes were unreadable, his face was blank.

Sherlock looked the soldier up and down silently as he came to a conclusion. "You have a way out of here. You pushed the button. You want me to live with the horror of my cowardly decision so you have some other quicker way out. Opposite the way we came. You clearly do not want or plan to die today." Sherlock paused looking at him dangerously now, "You must know that plans can change."

Sherlock's tone was mocking.

"Clearly your loyalty has limits. Do not think we are the same." There was a brief pause, "What now?"

Anger flashed on the general's face as he quickly and un-expectantly injected a drug in John's upper arm straight through his shirt. A surprised yelp came from John.

"Uh… Uh… Uh." The general's voice stopped both men that chose to run a few steps when they heard John cry out. The general smirked at the look on Holmes' face. The cool almost bored exterior cracked and he was casting worried glances at John while anger burned in his eyes. John tried to reassure Sherlock with his eyes but he was starting to blink a little more rapidly than normal and his tongue repeatedly came out and licked his suddenly dry lips without John realizing it.

"Well, look at the time. I'd better be off. My work here is about done," the general said mockingly. "One more thing then I'll allow you to choose, Mr. Holmes."

He took out another syringe. "Do you remember this, Mr. Holmes?" Holmes looked at the dark liquid contemplatively then paled. "Do you remember the unbearable pain it caused you when she had you in the lab? We improved it. It has two steps now. The first injection shall we say… prepares you. This one causes unimaginable pain and hypersensitivity to all things unpleasant."

The general smirked satisfied when he saw a brief flash of fear when Holmes looked at the doctor. Holmes quickly covered the emotion. "It's been perfected. I can tell by your pale expression that you remember it well. You'll be able to hear the good Doctor Watson screaming as you walk away."

"Well," he looked at his watch again, "Maybe running would be better."

"One more thing and this really is the last thing." The general's smile suddenly widened. Sherlock saw his face.

Everything happened at once.

He heard footsteps behind him. He heard John slurring a warning at Lestrade the same time that a click was heard. Sherlock reacted by pushing Lestrade down. The sound of a bullets impacting flesh was heard. He heard Lestrade's gun discharge and the popping sound returned in their direction. As Sherlock lay on his side, he saw the general's hand coming downward in a swing with the syringe.

Sherlock fired.

* * *

><p><strong>25 minutes to go<strong>

"… S-Sherlock w-wake up." John said kneeling beside him. He wiped away the blood from his hands on his jeans. He had just finished tying a ripped piece of shirt to Sherlock's leg. Lestrade was already helping him sit up. The action caused him to grimace. He felt a headache coming on.

Disjointed images slowly knitted together to form coherent thought. The first sensation was pain. Sherlock felt immediate sharp and stabling pain. It slammed into him like a train. It radiated from his left leg.

Sherlock looked at both men. John was starting to waver on his feet. It was obvious that John was trying to fight the drug in his system but was losing.

Sherlock glanced around. The general was dead and Lestrade managed to shoot the soldier who tried to kill him.

"How long was I out?" Sherlock asked. He was already helped into a sitting position. He now attempted to get up with Lestrade's help. Lestrade and John looked at each other.

"Just a few minutes." Lestrade said.

"Exactly," Sherlock looked him in the eyes.

"I don't know five minutes," Sherlock raised and eyebrow. Lestrade sighed, "Ten." Sherlock closed his eyes and made a decision then opened them.

"Lestrade John needs your help. Go on ahead. I'm right behind I promise."

"H-Hell no! Take Sherlock I'm likely to become a babbling idiot soon anyway! Leave me. I w-will not leave S-Sherlock!" John was angry.

"**Shut up, BOTH of you!" **Lestrade said with irritation. Both men became quiet and looked at Lestrade, shocked by his outburst. "I'm not leaving **either** one of you. Now do we waste time arguing or move?"

"**Move!"** Both men said at the same time. This caused everyone to smile despite the situation.

"Sherlock, you take this shoulder. John, take the other and let's go." Both men quickly followed Greg Lestrade's instructions and they were off. Sherlock had a pained expression with every step but simply grimaced. He did not say a word.

Sherlock took out his phone to make a call without slowing his movements.

The line was instantly picked up. "I'm on my way, Sherlock."

Sherlock did not bother to ask how the elder Holmes knew that he was in trouble. "Better hurry brother dear."

He heard Mycroft breathing heavily as if he was moving.

Both brothers knew it was probably best to hang up their mobile phones. Neither did. They held it in their hands as they both moved just listening to the other breath. Finally, Sherlock felt his strength fading, he was starting to breathe heavier, and sweat was forming on his face and neck. He knew he had to concentrate on moving.

He glanced at John. John was not looking good.

"Well Mycroft… time… to go… I'll see you… soon." Sherlock said breathing a little heavier now. His brother's voice stopped him from disconnecting.

"Sherlock," Mycroft hesitated, "Keep your word."

"Don't… understand," Sherlock said confused as they passed through the second thick metal door.

"You said you'll see me soon you sod, do keep up," Mycroft said with a rare display of humor. Sherlock knew it was for his benefit. It worked he noticed as he chuckled.

"I'll do my utmost… Mycroft." With regret Sherlock hung up the phone as the three men moved quickly disappearing through another heavy metal door.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."<strong>_

~ Lao Tzu

* * *

><p><strong><em>Part II<em>**

* * *

><p><strong>15 minutes ago<strong>

Sherlock and Lestrade limped along. John was becoming increasingly lethargic but his speed was good as long as he was held. Sherlock, not for the first time, asked Lestrade to take John and leave him.

"I'm right behind you… we tried, there isn't enough… time." Sherlock tried again as he now limped along. He was starting to shake slightly.

"Then we need to hurry." Lestrade struggled and was heaving heavily as he tried to help the two men. Sweat plaster Lestrade's shirt to his body.

Sherlock bit his lower lip now. He did not say it but he himself was becoming dizzy and knew that if he passed out, Lestrade would not leave either one of them.

They would all die.

Sherlock's mind tried to come up with a way, an angle he had not considered but found none. If he had known where the alternate escape was located in the building, they could use that escape route. It was probably under some kind of bomb shelter. However, he did not know its location and the one person who knew where it was was dead.

He would not ask Lestrade to leave him again.

Sherlock had known Lestrade even longer than John. Back when Mycroft helped him to get clean from his pass drug problem and Lestrade helped him by promising him access to cases if he stayed clean. Lestrade would not leave him. At least not if he had a choice.

That was when Sherlock saw it. His mind calculated the possibilities that it would work, against the time that was left before the explosion. Sherlock looked grim.

"I'm sorry Lestrade… give me just… a second." He looked quickly and sat John on the desk. Sherlock sat beside John.

"Just for a few seconds," Lestrade said sternly. The DI walked close by and tried to catch his breath.

"John…" Sherlock put his hands on John's face and turned it toward him. "… You with me?" Sherlock breathed in heavily filling his lungs with air. Since he was not moving; his breathing started to even out and speaking became much easier.

"S… ok… Sher…," John slurred. He tried to smile as he fought to stay awake. John was swaying slightly even though he was seated on the metal desk.

Sherlock bit his lip concerned. "You're going to be alright John." There was a slight pause. " John…, thank you for…" Sherlock cleared his throat. There was too much to say. There was not enough time.

"Hum," John smiled sleepily. "My Sher-ok," John said as he smiled.

"I suppose you're right, John." He smiled as he looked intently at his friend, the person who first somehow climbed around his self-constructed barricade and defenses.

"Your Sherlock… Always"

Sherlock squeezed John's hand and almost chuckled. Even though John occasionally drank, he realized that he had never witnessed him drunk. He wondered if this was what John would be like drunk.

Sherlock sighed.

"Lestrade I saw something in the corner. If you get it for me, I could use it as a crutch so that we could go faster." Lestrade nodded and moved quickly to the dimly lit corner.

"Sherlock I don't see what you're talking about?" Lestrade looked around the dimly lit room to the opposite corner. His back was turned to the two men.

A loud thud followed by a click was heard.

Lestrade turned around quickly and felt his body move toward the door.

He ran up to the locked door and pounded through the glass. He was able to only see Sherlock's face through the filthy glass.

"Sherlock," He pounded on the door, "How do I open it?" Lestrade was frantic. He yelled so that Sherlock would be able to hear through the thick glass and metal.

"You can't. Go take John. Now." Sherlock yelled back.

Lestrade froze. "You did this on purpose," He whispered. Sherlock could not hear, but he saw in Lestrade's eyes the moment that realization came to the DI.

"Damn you," Lestrade whispered to himself as he fought back tears.

"Sherlock," he said loudly.

"Leave now… you should make it with only the two of you," Sherlock yelled.

Lestrade looked Sherlock in the eyes and did not hide his tears.

"No sentimental gestures Lestrade… you know how I detest them. Go now." Sherlock hesitated, "Take care of John."

Lestrade was frozen to the spot.

Sherlock yelled, "**Go! ****Now**** Man**!" He used his best-annoyed voice.

Sherlock's voice shook Lestrade out of his haze. Lestrade nodded once and went to John. He was reclining on the desk. He slapped John's face hard enough to get his attention. He picked him up and put his arm around his shoulder.

John looked at Lestrade then frowned. "Where… Sherl?" He slurred.

Lestrade bit his lower lip, "John I need you to listen," John stuck out his tongue wetting his lips as he concentrated. He looked like a five year old.

"Sherlock wants you to run very fast." Lestrade hesitated hating himself for the lie. "He'll meet you outside."

"Hum, K," John said concentrating.

Lestrade looked back at the glass Sherlock was not there; he apparently did not want John to see him.

Lestrade took John under the arms and yelled, "Go!"

John took it as a challenge. They ran for their lives, Lestrade did not look back again. He did not have the strength to. If he had, he would have seen a face looking at them through a small dirty window with one hand pressed to the glass.

* * *

><p>Mycroft sat in the passenger seat with his hands on his umbrella, his grip was so tight on his umbrella that his knuckles were white. "Faster," he said through gritted teeth.<p>

"Sir, it's to maximum speed already," The driver glanced nervously at Mr. Holmes as he willed the Mercedes to go faster. A fisted hand came to Mycroft's closed mouth as his thoughts went to his brother.

* * *

><p>He watched them disappear through a set of doors. Sherlock slide down the wall. He sat against the wall as he used it for support. He no longer tried to hide the pain in his leg and allowed a groan. He started to feel dizzier now.<p>

He thought of his two friends running for their lives. Sherlock grimaced from the pain as he glanced at his watch.

"They're going to make it," he whispered weakly.

They are going to make it, his mind repeated.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith <strong>_

_**will last in the midst of the blackest storm.**_" ~ **Mahatma Gandhi**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Part III<em>**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Current day and time.<strong>_

Choices. He had just made his impossible choice. In the end, there was no choice. They would live. John would live. If this was the last gift he gave him, so be it.

He was trembling slightly now all over, his lips suddenly became dry. He licked his lips to wet them. He thought of those he cared about one by one. It was a short list, he noted with some amusement. There was Irene, and Molly. There was Lestrade. Lestrade would feel guilty, Sherlock was regretful of that but it was unavoidable. John would take care of Mrs. Hudson.

His thoughts lingered on Mycroft. His lips started to tremble.

He laughed sadly, as he thought about how cross Mycroft was going to be. Not only was he showing emotion he was about to die. "Sorry Mycroft," Sherlock whispered as the throbbing pain became worse. Sherlock closed his eyes and grit his teeth as a wave of pain washed over him. In a few minutes, the pain subsided and he opened his eyes as he tried to regulate his breathing.

He shakily looked around. He never noticed how empty the space was.

He choked back a sob.

"I thought I was ready," Sherlock whispered breathlessly, "I don't want to die… I need more time…" He swallowed hard as he noticed his limbs shaking more.

"I need more time." He laughed weakly as tears rolled down his eyes. He did not try to stop them. What did it matter? No one was around to witness him falling apart. He kept nervously biting his trembling lower lip.

"Dying is not quite as dull as you thought, is it Mr. Holmes?" He whispered while smirking to himself. He fought to stay awake.

* * *

><p>Lestrade was covered with sweat as he ran and half-dragged John along. John was running fast but a bit off balance. Lestrade had to concentrate on keeping them balance and upright but at least he did not have to worry about speed.<p>

* * *

><p>A few minutes passed.<p>

Sherlock was lying on the cold concrete floor now. He blinked more often. He would take longer to open his eyes. He was also becoming more drowsy.

* * *

><p>Mycroft could see the building in the distance now. Other police units, agents, and ambulances should be arriving soon. He had managed to beat them there. His heart was racing impossible fast.<p>

He had a grim look on his face as he glanced at his watch.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was going in and out of consciousness. The scientist in him was curious about the process of death and cataloged his symptom during his more lucent periods. The man in him was terrified. He no longer felt pain and was starting to hallucinate. "Visual and auditory hallucinations," Sherlock slurred with what was supposed to be a smirk.<p>

He thought he heard footsteps and voices. John's voice?

John.

He tried to keep his mind off his situation. "Well," he thought, "There are more pleasant places to be." He could no longer keep his eyes open anyway.

His eyes rolled under his lids and he barely moved weaken fingers. He entered his mind palace, and closed the doors for the last time. This time it wasn't to retrieve information or catalog data he was on a mission.

He heard the familiar soft violin music that played constantly in the background. He smiled at the familiarity and comfort of it. Sherlock's shoes tapped as he walked briskly through the marbled halls. He let his hands stroke the beautiful oak doors but he did not slow down his quick pace. It was three doors down. He had to get there.

Paintings on the walls of this palace were painted with the quality of the master artists. He looked at each one.

Each canvas passed was the painting of someone of significance in Sherlock's life. His hand stroked each picture without slowing his pace.

One painting was of his mother. There were paintings of Molly, of Irene, and one was of Lestrade. The next painting passed was of Mrs. Hudson. The last seemed to be specially framed and slightly apart from the rest. It was of Mycroft. Sherlock's left hand touched and lingered on his brother's painting.

There was no painting of John on the walls.

Sherlock delayed leaving Mycroft's painting. The palace seemed to shake in a gentle rhythm. He glanced up. He was not afraid but he had to hurry. He smiled at Mycroft's painting and chuckled sadly. He stood at Mycroft's painting, hesitating again for the briefest of a moment. He took a deep breath and walked away.

* * *

><p>Lestrade and John made it out the building but Lestrade did not slow his pace down. He knew that he had to get a safe distance away. He grunted from the effort, he could feel John pulling heavier on him now. John would collapse soon.<p>

In the back of his mind, Lestrade heard the wail of sirens coming from a distance. He saw a black car in front of them by at least a mile. None of that mattered now.

There was no time!

* * *

><p>Mycroft barely allowed the car to stop before opening the door and running out. He saw collapsed bodies on the ground a good distance from the building. They were heaving heavily. He was relieved that they had made it out in time. His relief was short lived as he got closer and realized that there were two bodies not three.<p>

John was on the ground with his eyes closed. Mycroft got close and asked one word, "Sherlock?" Lestrade had tear-stained eyes. Lestrade looked wordlessly toward the building.

Mycroft stiffen, he had never seen Lestrade cry. Mycroft twirled in a half circle his coat spreading like a cape as he deduced. "No," he whispered as his eyes widen and he looked toward the building.

Cars were pulling up as Anthea and Thomas and several agents were getting out. The ambulance was pulling up as well. The police was close.

Mycroft dropped his umbrella and ran toward the building.

Thomas noticed Holmes out of the corner of his eye. Thomas heart dropped, as he instantly knew what happened. Whether it costs him his job or not, he had to stop him. Thomas did not notice when he started to run. Thomas heard the tapping of heels and realized that Anthea was also running in an attempt to stop their boss.

Thomas noticed as he ran gaining, that this was the second time he had ever seen the normally composed Mycroft Holmes run, both times it was to save his brother.

* * *

><p>The mind palace swaying was getting worse. He ignored it. It did not matter he had made it. Sherlock was where he wanted to be. He was safe.<p>

Sherlock turned the handle and allowed tears to silently roll down his eyes freely now. As he entered the beautiful room he smiled, he was there.

He was always there.

Sherlock looked at his smiling face and his own smile widened.

* * *

><p>Mycroft was still a distance from the door. He ignored the multiple shout from several agents behind him to stop. One word drove him forward. "Sherlock."<p>

* * *

><p>In both worlds, Sherlock extended a hand.<p>

In both worlds, one word was spoken from Sherlock's lips.

"John."

* * *

><p>The force of rapidly expanding air drove Mycroft backward. He felt pain in his shoulder and side as his body connected with concrete and air was forcefully expelled from his lungs.<p>

The ground trembled. A deafening thunderous sound pierced the air as the building disintegrated. The building collapsed in and on itself, as bellows of gray and black smoke rose and broke away from the building. People ran, taking shelter as wreckage, soot, and fragments rained to the ground.

* * *

><p><em><strong>A brother. He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer <strong>_

_**and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal.**_ ~ _Gregg Levoy_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Part IV<em>**

* * *

><p>Mycroft was dazed for a moment and lay down on the ground blinking until realization came to him. Several hands pulled at him. He did not help or offer resistance. Dust from the building was blowing in the wind and had managed to blow on him, covering him completely from head to toe.<p>

Thomas held one hand to his back to steady him. Anthea was already gone running for emergency personnel. He heard the sound of blood pounding in his ears, and blinked away the grit from his eyes. He felt warm, thick liquid slowly drip down one side of his head.

He looked over and saw Lestrade with emergency personnel around him. Lestrade stared straight ahead not looking at anything. Tears were silently running down his cheeks.

John had finally passed out and was being transported to a trolley. Good, Mycroft thought. Let John sleep a little longer. The nightmare does not come when you dream. The nightmare comes when you wake.

Words were spoken; they were trying to get his attention. Someone asked if he was hurt, he almost smiled as tears began to roll down his eyes. He ignored them. It seemed that at least for today, he had joined the ranks of the emotional masses. Sherlock would have appreciated his hypocrisy.

Sherlock.

The tears flowed faster now. His eyes swam as images became distorted and noises started to disconnect.

He grabbed Thomas sleeve and weakly spoke. "Search… Building… Sherlock." His eyes became more blurry. Consciousness was overrated, he thought.

The world faded to black.

* * *

><p>Mycroft woke in the hospital bed. He deduced looking at John who was sitting in the chair that he had been unconscious for over twenty-four hour. He winced as he turned his head. John looked at him as he gave a sad smile. He knew John would be there. They were all that they had left of Sherlock.<p>

John patted Mycroft's hand before saying, "I'm here."

"I know, John." A tear rolled down his eyes as he looked at John. The pull of sleep took him. He did not resist.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends."~<strong>_ John 15:13 NLT

* * *

><p><strong><em>Part V<em>**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Two Days Later<strong>_

Mycroft stood at the door. He had a wound dressing on his head. He held the picture from Sherlock 's bedroom in his hand. It was a picture of a skinny and lanky pale-skinned boy with dark curly hair with one arm around his older slightly overweight brother's shoulders. What is striking is the smile on both of their faces. Mycroft smiled at the thought that no matter had bad things got between them, wherever Sherlock went the picture went with him. During his faked suicide, the picture had mysteriously disappeared and reappeared when he revealed himself to John months later.

"Are you sure that's all that you want Mycroft."

"Quite," Mycroft turned to leave, "I'll let you know the time of the memorial." He looked at the door that he had crossed so many times knowing this might be the last time that he crossed it and the room melted away.

"… Mycroft can you hear me?"

"What happened," He looked around making a deduction. He was sitting in a chair with no memory of how he got there. John was close with his mobile phone in hand. "Oh… Sorry John."

"Quite falling apart I'm afraid, my apologies," Mycroft tried to rise up when John pushed him down in the chair. Most men were afraid to touch Mycroft Holmes much less try give him orders. Mycroft was amused. John disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with two cups of tea, cream and sugar.

He placed one cup in front of Mycroft. "Your brother …" John tried again after he cleared his throat, "Your brother would kick my arse if I let you out of here until I am sure that you are ok." John's hand paused for a moment on the teacup handle at the mention of Sherlock.

John finally did sit across from Mycroft.

Mycroft took a sip and smiled. John noticed and was curious.

"Did I tell you about the first time that Sherlock did a proper deduction?"

"No"

"I was fourteen and home on holiday. Sherlock was only seven but even then, he was a handful. The servants were always kept busy. Apparently, he had some sort of an experiment going. He was warned that he was not to do anymore experiment outside of second kitchen, and then only when supervised. I came into the dining room and sat close to Sherlock. I refused to leave until he confessed what he had done. He refused to get up and sat down with a look of discomfort on his face. I knew immediately what he had done so I sat there with the paper reading casual as I spoke to him. Sweat was starting to form on his face. Yet, he sat there determined. You know how stubborn he can be." Mycroft paused slightly as he forced his emotions under control. "Suddenly, he looked me up and down; you know the look he gives when he is deducing you?"

"Yes, I know the one." John chuckled.

"He was livid. Sherlock had deduced that I had known all along that he was sitting on a failed experiment. One that was still warm by the way. He was outraged and stomped away after informing me of what I had done in the last hour. He was spot on by the way. Anyone else could not possibly have known."

"There he was walking away with a hole in his bloomer the heat had burned through. A patch of his pale bum was showing." Mycroft chuckled along with John. "I have never laughed so hard before," there was a longer pause, "… or since."

"He is," Mycroft cleared his throat again, "I mean was a pure terror, even when grown."

John spoke now. He did not try to hide his emotions. "Did you know about the time he slipped on ice chasing a suspect and bruise his back side so badly, he could not make it up or down the stair for three days. He somehow still apprehended the suspect by the way. He was insufferable for those three days. I understand fully what you mean about him sometimes being a pure terror…"

John and Mycroft talked into the night and Mycroft fell asleep on the couch. As John covered him with a blanket, he came to a decision. John, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock and lately Lestrade had made themselves into a family. Their family was not one _made of blood_ but of something else. Sherlock, in one of what he would have considered a weaker moment, described it as _one made of something just as strong or stronger._ He said it was made up by something _of the heart_.

John clearly remembered Sherlock definition of family. John had almost fallen out his chair when he heard it coming from the mouth of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock later excused himself saying that it was the pain medication talking, not him.

John smiled at the memory.

As John looked over the sleeping form of the man who looked over a nation, he came to a decision. He would look over Mycroft.

John Watson at that moment expanded his makeshift family by the number of… one.

* * *

><p>AN: if you happy with a good cry **stop here.**

*****Optional preview to Forgotten Memory by Zacha on the next page. *****

***Warning: Reading the next page changes the story. (Spoilers)**

It is your choice. Make yourself content.

I hope that you enjoyed. **Later today** both thanks and a new story will be posted.

"I don't want to die, I want more time is taken from Third star. Warning : Don't watch without tissue. Benedict Cumberbatch is brilliant in it. Lots and Lots of tissue.

Love to all and please comment on your experiences.

* * *

><p>(Spoilers)<p>

Preview to **Forgotten Memories**.

by Zacha

… Later in his room as John lay in bed staring at the ceiling he spoke. "I can still…feel you. You do not feel dead. It's almost as if you have taken up a room in my heart and taken it over. You probably redecorated the place without me knowing you git. I know what you would say right now, and no I am not in denial."

John swallowed hard, "Maybe I am smart arse… always had to have the last word don't you." John cleared his throat as he blinked back the tears. Giving in to the tears would mean he accepted what everyone was saying. He did not.

He turned to look at the picture. In it, everyone was smiling but Sherlock who looked slightly annoyed.

"Night." John whispered.

When John fell asleep, he spoke a name he had not spoken once since that explosion while awake.

While dreaming, John mumbled a whisper, a prayer, a wish, "Sherlock…"

* * *

><p>Half a world away, in a mansion, a pale-skinned man with dark hair in sleep spoke a name. He called out for help as he wrestles and twisting on silk sheets in his beautifully caged prison. He wrestled against an evil that he would not remember in the morning.<p>

A whispered name escapes his lips, "John…"

* * *

><p><strong>**Up tomorrow, I had to change a few things, thanks.<strong>


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